


Ghosts in the Snow

by theoneandonlylittlebird



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 2019 TEA Nominee, AU, Angst, F/M, Non-Magical, RSS, but don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 22:32:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13086762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoneandonlylittlebird/pseuds/theoneandonlylittlebird
Summary: Stranded by a blizzard in an airport, Belle decides to take a chance on the stranger that offers her a ride home. An AU RSS fic. TEA 2018 nominee for Best RSS.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [we-aim-to-misbehave](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=we-aim-to-misbehave).



> Hello my wonderful giftee @we-aim-to-misbehave. It has been an absolute joy being your Santa and I truly hope this makes you happy. Your prompt was fabulous and a pleasure to write for: non-magical road trip, storm. This fic does come with an angst tag, so please take that seriously, but I have yet to have the guts to write anything except happy endings, so I hope you'll bear with me. I looked forward to writing this each time I had a chance to work on it and enjoyed its creation start to finish. Happy Rumbelle Christmas and to all a goodnight!

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Yes, she had seen the weather report before she left and she knew what season she would be arriving into, but that was not the point.

Belle had never seen snow before, except in the movies. Sure, there were places in Australia that did get snow, but she had never visited them. She had never visited anywhere further than a forty minute drive from her family’s home, because all the money went into the house or the shop or the car or her education or to food or anything except travel.

But her mother’s death had changed everything.

Eight years ago her father, with puffy, red eyes had told her he could no longer stand the sight of the place and that he was leaving for America. So he had sold their family home, the shop, and he had gone to Maine, of all places, to start anew. This was not a heartless abandonment though. It was a promise. He had used some of the money to help her pay for her education and set some aside for this trip to join him when she finished school. On her way to this sterile and frigid airport in the midwest, Belle had wandered through Asia sprinkling her mother’s ashes along the way, just as she had promised to do.

But she had made another promise to herself and that was that she would run out into the first snow she saw, let it engulf her in its swirling mystery.

However, two in the morning local time and the frozen arctic hand of god, or maybe Mab, had other plans. A purply night crowded against the thick glass of the terminal encasing everything in a fog/frost, could she call that a frog? No, she was so damned tired she couldn't think anymore. Oh hell, she couldn't see out the damned window through the frozen coating of whatever it was called. The airport had advised against anyone going outside for risk of being lost, even a few steps, in the blizzard/ice-fuck of the century.

The guy who had called it an ice-fuck sounded like the quintessential cowboy from Lonesome Dove, check that off her bucket list- see a real cowboy. He was pacing the joint like an addict and complaining about liberal no-smoking laws.

The rest of the passengers were more or less huddled in the seating area staring at the unchanging board, waiting for it to flicker to life and give departure times again instead of the never ending march of canceled flights. Belle was hungry, thirsty and her back had settled into one solid knot hours ago. She rolled her shoulders, but got no relief.

At least the guy sitting next to her was minding his own business. The parents with small children were having increasing difficulty keeping them from screaming and/or running all over the terminal. The entitled hipsters were easy to spot with their cursing and foaming at the mouth over the injustice that they were not provided a hotel regardless of everyone’s plight and the threatening weather. They gave death glares every time a baby cried or a nine-year-old whined about being hungry. Of the irritating behavior around her, theirs was the worst because it was the most easily helped, but the least likely to be. As if everyone here wasn't at the very end of their tether.

The guy next to her was silent about his stress, but his knuckles were white where he clenched interlaced fingers around a golden handled cane. He had his elbows on his knees and his head bowed, but Belle had seen his face before. A striking man with greying hair brushing his shoulders, his features just missed razor sharp giving him a very clean, if uniquely distinguished look. Belle pictured him out of his suit, in a magazine picture. Yes, she could see him as the sales piece for a tropical resort, drink in one hand, no shirt, hair just lifted by the breeze-

“Is there something you need, Miss?

That voice- hot Scottish chocolate, he was looking at her! Belle jumped and flushed in embarrassment. “Miss French, but you can call me Belle.” 

His address had not been a request for introduction, nor particularly polite. He had meant it as a quit-staring-at-me-you-rude-person statement of piss off. But she knew she had his attention now because his eyes widened and he sat up, now facing her.

“Far from home, Miss French?” His voice had softened and was there moisture in his eyes? Must have been from the lateness of the hour.

“Not anymore, I hope. I mean, I haven't seen it yet.” Words, Belle. Try those.

“I know it’s quite late, but I’m afraid I didn't catch that.” Eyes like highly polished wood searched her face. Almost desperately. What could such an exquisite man have to be desperate about?

“I’m going to where I hope home will be, but I haven't been there yet.”

He looked away with a raised eyebrow, clearly meaning to disengage, “I see.”

“Mr. -?” Belle prodded turning in her seat to fully face him. Now she felt as though she could not bear for him to turn from her and out of her life forever.

The pause was so long she thought all might be lost before he murmured, “Gold, Mr. Gold.”

Relief washed through her, “It seems pretty draconian that they won't put us up, even, I mean, they told us we have at least a four day wait for a flight out.”

“In a storm like this, they couldn't take us to a hotel even if it were across the street. Maybe they will tomorrow, but I won't be waiting here past the end of the blizzard.” He sounded stressed.

“You’re close enough to home to drive?” Belle knew it was none of her business, but as long as she talked to this handsome stranger, she could ignore the toddler meltdown two rows over.

“Definitely not, but I can't wait, even though it only saves me a day. It helps to be doing something anyway.” Mr. Gold deprived her of his eyes, which he fixed on the head of his cane instead.

“Business over the weekend?” She should really stop being nosy, it was very rude.

“No, my son. He’s sick. I got the call a few hours ago from friends he’s staying with. I can't bare to leave him with them a second longer than I have to. He needs his father.” Mr. Gold’s smooth voice broke over the last phrase.

“He’s very lucky to have a father who loves him so much. My plight isn’t so personal, but I’m going to miss my first meeting with my new boss. Great way to make a first impression.” Belle tried to look around the curtain of hair that had obscured Mr. Gold’s face.

He rewarded her by turning to look at her through his tumbling locks. “Where are you going? If you’re on the way, I could use the company.”

She just about missed the softly whispered offer. But her eyebrows lifted at its tenderness. “Oh, I doubt I’m on anyone’s way to anything, my new home is in Maine. Who goes there, right?”

Mr. Gold sat straight upright and squared around to face her fully, “I do, or rather I am, going to Maine, that is. Would getting dropped off in Portland be helpful? You’d get there a day earlier than waiting for this boat.”

Belle shook her head in disbelief.

“Oh, that’s ok, I could even drop you in Boston-”

“No, no, Mr. Gold, a ride to Portland would be wonderful. I don't think I can afford the rental car, though, or the gas, or the food or lodgings… Sorry, but you find me rather ready for that new job that’s waiting for me.” Belle flushed with embarrassment, spending four days in the airport meant four days eating one meal a day and crackers as it was.

Belle saw that desperation creep back into Mr. Gold’s not-quite smile, “That won't be a problem, Miss French, my employment will easily accommodate us both and for the company, I’ll take care of everything.”

Belle jumped back in her seat alarmed, “Whoah, Mr. Gold, I don't know how you got the impression that I’m that kind of girl, but I’m not. No, no way, excuse me.”

She dropped her purse twice before getting all her things into her arms to search out another place to wait before she heard his chagrined voice, “No! No, no, no, Miss French, that is not what I meant to imply, a woman such as yourself, no. I mean. I’m so sorry. I’m not that kind of man, but what else would you think from a stranger? I’m so sorry to have bothered you. I’ll leave you these seats, my apologies.”

Then they were both standing nose to nose, distressed and confused.

“Wait, you weren't asking for-” Belle allowed.

“No! Just companionship on a long drive, trying to be a gentlemen, but I know I’m a strange man and you a lovely young lady, I shouldn't have said anything like that. I’m just very fatigued.” Mr. Gold’s eyes now seemed full of grief in addition to his desperation.

“Ok.” Belle said simply, wanting to stroke the anguish from his cheeks.

“Ok? Ok you believe I meant no slight or ok, ok…”

“Both, it’s clear you didn't mean anything and, I’d love a ride to Portland.”

By the time six in the morning strolled in, both Belle and her new companion had given up on their chairs and any sense of dignity. Mr. Gold lay curled on his side on the floor under his wool knee length coat with his head on his leather briefcase. Belle had her own head propped on her backpack and her flimsy excuse for a winter coat clutched around her. She had woken first, which afforded her the opportunity to see his features relaxed in sleep.

His countenance was smoother now, but with a definitive layer of stubble which had grown in to shadow his jaw. Mr. Gold snored very softly, more a slight impingement of his airflow likely from the awkward angle of his neck. Wisps of his hair framed his temple and she could see now that his sideburns were snow white. He was handsome. Too old for her, but why was she thinking about that even?

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen,” a harassed sounding airport employee began over the loudspeaker, “The weather service has informed us that the storm has let up enough for them to begin clearing the roads so you should be able to get yourselves hotels within a couple of hours if you don't want to stay here for the next several days.”

By the end of the announcement sleep fogged brown eyes were staring into hers.

“I half thought I’d dreamed you up,” he murmured softly.

“Shall I pinch you?”

“Not that kind of an arrangement, Miss French, I thought I made that clear.” He was smiling faintly though. “I suggest we each find a restroom to freshen up and then meet back here? Sounds like it's time to see about renting a car before everyone else does as well.”

“Perfect, I’ll be right back.” Belle got up hastily, but then looked back down at her companion. He had rolled to sit on his bottom, but had fixed his cane with a dubious expression. “Let me help you up?”

It looked for a moment like he would refuse her, but then he grimaced and took her hand in his. She braced him while he used his cane to help himself up. His hand was soft and warm, smooth like he lacked a history of manual labor. Not like her father’s hands.

He had to take his hand from hers before she noticed she had held it too long. “I’ll be back here in ten minutes, Miss French.”

Belle nodded, flushing slightly and trying not to meet his eyes conspicuously. “I’ll be here.”

Though she half expected to never see him again, there he was, waiting for her upon her return. Together they left the miserable terminal with its protesting babies and whining hipsters.

Belle stopped dead. She had just been slapped by a stinging wall of air so cold she couldn't breathe. Gasping like a fish, her eyes stung and her lungs coughed in aching protest. She would have panicked if Mr. Gold hadn't pulled the scarf he’d insisted she put on only seconds ago around her nose and mouth. Even the slightly warmer air, rebreathed as it was, let her settle down.

Warm brown eyes peered down at her from over his own scarf which securely covered half his face. His hands, gloved, fussed with her scarf until he was satisfied and she had calmed.

“I thought you knew to pull your scarf up when you stepped outside. I take it by this glaring omission that I’ll be driving.” His voice wasn't unkind, but it was a bit fatherly.

“Uh, I probably should have mentioned that I’ve never seen snow before.” Belle yanked her gaze away from his and began looking around in amazement. Though she couldn't see far in the white cloud they seemed to be in, snow banks taller than she was surrounded the few clear pathways leading between essential locations. Snow was everywhere. White was everywhere. It even stuck in frosting like globs to the vertical surfaces. Great hunks of blue ice shards the size of boulders lay in heaps of white rubble along the sides of the buildings.

Mr. Gold saw her staring so he explained, “Don't walk outside the awnings, when the ice gives way from the roof, it could kill you. Now, come along before we both freeze, literally. Yes, they always find homeless people frozen stiff when this kind of thing thaws. It’s horrifying.”

“Oh my gods, you’re serious. Oh. You’re not kidding about the homeless. Whoah, I never even considered-” Belle felt utterly sick at the thought of finding a corpse in a drift of perfect white snow.

“They try their best to round up everyone before a storm like this, but sometimes people hide, or they’re too intoxicated and no one finds them in time.” Mr. Gold trailed off in a quiet murmur. Then he said, “Let’s get going, this window of less severe weather is going to close and we need to be long gone before it does.”

With her things in the back of the giant SUV, Belle hesitated with the passenger door open. Mr. Gold had his seatbelt on and his cane stowed between the two bucket seats. He looked over at her.

“Something wrong?”

Belle struggled for a moment before she spoke. “I know this is unfair, but if you don't know why I’m asking I shouldn't get in the car with you. Are you planning on violence, rape, murder, that kind of thing?”

The earnest concern in his face turned into something hurt and unhappy, “I’m not,” he said that looking her straight in the eye, “and I do know why you need to ask. I’m a sad and anxious father who needs to get home. That’s all. I will keep you as safe as I possibly can.”

She held his gaze for a long moment before she let out the breath she’d been holding and got in the car. With the door closed she said, “I’m sorry that I have to ask and even sorrier that I’m still afraid, but men have a rape/murder problem statistically speaking and what I am doing isn't safe or advisable.”

“I know. If it comforts you at all, you know you can get away from me because my foot won't allow me more than a brisk saunter. I wish what you just said wasn't true, but I know it is and I know why you’re afraid.” He waited until she looked back at him, then he said very slowly, “You’re safe with me.”

Belle gave him a grateful if small smile. “You’re not worried about me? I’m not going to do anything weird either, so you’ve heard me say it, but aren't you nervous, even a little?”

“Yeah, of course, but, well, call it a hunch, but I think you’re a good person. I’m usually a good judge of character.” With a final smile, he eased the huge car out of the parking space slowly and carefully.

Slowly and carefully was how he drove for the next several hours and even so Belle’s heart thudded wildly in her chest every time the car slid, or slithered, or wiggled strangely. They tailed a snow plow to the main highway which was in the process of being cleared so they continued to follow far behind the plows as they headed away from Chicago. Thankfully they encountered very little traffic.

Mr. Gold said they wouldn't bother taking the chains off likely for most of the trip since the entire eastern seaboard was snowed in tight which kept them to a sedate pace.

It was clear to Belle that Mr. Gold was concentrating hard on the task at hand and his blanched knuckles told that story if his set jaw hadn’t. So she didn't talk. And he didn't talk.

Until it started to get dark around four in the afternoon.

The diner food they had picked up on their way out of Chicago had worn off long ago but Belle didn't want to say anything to her determined chauffeur. Thankfully though, the telltale highway signs indicating a town came into view and Mr. Gold chanced a look over at her. His first in hours.

“Miss French, we will need to stop for the night and it’s getting close to the dinner hour. Are you hungry?” His voice was smooth and polite, like he was her butler or something. Or like he really meant to keep his word and care for her during this trip.

The second thought gave her a warm feeling.

She tried not to agree too enthusiastically, but failed miserably. “Yes, very much so, and stopping for the night sounds good.”

“Yes it does.” He agreed and took the exit. Snow remained piled up high on either side of the roadway and Belle’s eyes ached in spite of the sunglasses she’d been wearing after Mr. Gold’s example, even on the overcast day. The snow was so very bright.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a good plan, but in this tiny town on a snowy day, very little was actually open. In fact, they ended up eating in a hospital cafeteria because not even a fast food establishment had its lights on. Thankfully they had seen a motel that looked open during their search for food.

Going out to eat at a hospital was very, very weird. 

Belle hoped they wouldn't be spotted and kicked out instantly, but Mr. Gold murmured softly in her ear, “No one knows we don't have a loved one here, so we eat the terrible food, be grateful there is any to be had and then we can go. No one the wiser. But you can't tell anyone that this is how I treat women the first time I take them for dinner. My reputation would be shattered.”

Belle smiled at him, charmed. He had leaned in close to avoid being overheard and she liked the feel of him being so near, it was comforting.

So they ate greasy fish and chips, soggy fries and limp lettuce. However, there was hot chocolate and that was a godsend.

Mr. Gold kept his eyes on his meal and said nothing to her after his earlier advice, like he was trying very hard not to see where they were or something. He clearly wanted to be gone as soon as possible, so in spite of wanting to be out of the car for a while longer, Belle did not dawdle over her dinner.

Which, true to his word, he paid for.

For some reason, Mr. Gold seemed a very lonely man. He had not said anything to that effect, he had a son she knew, but the way he appeared to draw in on himself, to expect very little interaction with her or the outside world, tipped her off. She wanted to know his story, she decided. Perhaps tomorrow the driving would get easier and she would feel comfortable enough to talk to him.

She supposed it could have been worse. The motel had booked its very last room ten minutes before they walked in. The young woman behind the desk did seem genuine in her distress at having nothing to offer them, but she still had nothing to offer them. Mr. Gold inquired about other hotel’s in the area and he and Belle sat in the lobby calling every single one within twenty miles. The answer was the same, travelers stuck in odd places by the storm had filled up every available room.

Mr. Gold ran a hand through his hair and grimaced as he looked at her. “I promised to keep you safe and so far I have shaved at least ten minutes off your life by feeding you utter shite for dinner and now I have naught but the back of an SUV to keep you from sleeping in a snow drift. I am a complete failure.”

There was something in the way he said that last sentence that robbed his words of any shred of humor they might have had. Unless she missed her guess, those were tears in his eyes. Was he about to panic?

Belle grabbed his hands and stared into his face until he finally met her eyes, “It’s going to be ok. We will figure this out. I don't know how yet, but sit back down and we’ll think this through again.”

His face crumpled but he pulled away from her hands and sat back down in one of the overstuffed and yet still horrifically uncomfortable lobby chairs. Belle opted to pace while she scrambled around in her brain to figure out how to fix this.

“AirBnB.”

“What?” Mr. Gold looked up at her, startled.

Belle sat hastily down beside him and began rummaging in her phone with a will. When absolutely no entries appeared within ten miles, she widened the search and stabbed the only available option that popped up. It looked like a roach infested crack house but-

And it disappeared under her fingers. Someone else had just nabbed it.

“Argh!” She cried out in frustration.

A hand soothed up and down her spine, “It was a good idea, Miss French. A very good idea.”

She dropped her head into her hands in defeat. His hand didn't stop rubbing her back, which she liked in a way that shouldn't have even crossed her mind at that particular juncture.

At last, ten minutes or an hour later, she didn't know, she spoke again, “Mr. Gold, you said you could offer me the back of an SUV, well, why not? If the motel can loan us blankets and pillows, we could manage. If we’re lucky they’ll be nice enough to let us use the bathroom.”

He met her gaze and then he said, “I imagine money will help us get some bedding and access to a bathroom for the night. I’m so sorry, but I don't honestly think we can do better at this point.”

Belle nodded, and stood. She reached back to offer him her assistance in getting up off the chair and to her surprise, he accepted. She had noticed he was walking more stiffly after driving all day and it was his right foot that was the problem. It probably hurt quite a bit right about now.

The clerk did more than take pity on them and give them the blankets they needed. She carried half of them out to the SUV so that Mr. Gold wouldn't have to try to manage with his cane while Belle carried the other half. She then proceeded to help Belle muscle the heavy seats out of the trunk and into the motel behind the desk. What had seemed to Belle at the time like an excessive waste of gas when he rented it now seemed like the most prudent decision Mr. Gold could have made. When they had finished, a few layers of comforter would be between them and the hard, lumpy floor and they had enough layers left over to curl up in. The desk clerk said they should probably be safe enough with the two of them together for the night.

Belle saw Mr. Gold blush at that comment but she said nothing about it.

“Look, if you were to put a deposit on a room, for tomorrow, say, I could issue you a key and then you’d have access to the pool room.” The clerk paused for a moment and looked down pointedly at where Mr. Gold was balancing on his cane while he held his bad foot out of the snow. “There’s a hot tub in there, with jets. I’d just refund you in the morning when you return the bedding.”

Belle flung her arms around the woman and squeezed her tight. Maybe she should have let Mr. Gold accept the offer, since it was his money after all, but Mr. Gold hastily accepted before she had even let go of their savior.

“I didn't bring a bathing suit, but you go ahead and enjoy the hot tub, I’m sure you’re feeling chilled after the day we’ve had.” Mr. Gold put one of the keys in her hand with a caring and warm expression on his face. Out of the corner of her eye, Belle saw the clerk frown. Belle knew the clerk had intended for Mr. Gold to ease his pain and hearing that he wouldn't displeased them both.

But Belle wasn't having any of it. “You don't need a bathing suit to soak your foot. And since you’re already impressed me with your suit, if it gets a little rumpled I assure you I won't be less impressed.”

“I impressed you?” Mr. Gold looked conflicted and it came out in a whisper.

“Don't tell me you don't know you cut a dashing figure in that thing. Now come on. I did bring my suit and you’re quite right, I’m cold and stiff all over.”

Mr. Gold nodded to her, if hesitantly, then he said to the now smiling clerk, “Thank you very much for your kindness. I won't forget it, Ms. Tiana.”

Mr. Gold blushed adorably. That was the only word she could think to describe the poor man when she came out of the restroom in her boy-shorts and bikini top. He looked away, then down at his bare feet with the pant legs rolled up. Next to a lawn chair, his shoes were neatly side by side. He had carefully laid out his jacket to keep it from wrinkling, along with his tie. So he stood before her with his top button undone and the red of his blushing creeping down his chest.

Belle was charmed. The man wore a waste coat and sleeve garters, what had he been up to in Chicago? It didn't seem right to ask though. It wasn't her business. And who was to say he didn't dress like this every day of his life? His shyness appealed to her as much as it deterred her from the temptation to pry into his business.

“Ready, Mr. Gold?” Belle smiled as she approached him.

He looked up and very carefully only at her face, “Uh, yes Miss French, but, would you mind terribly, I could use a little help getting seated.”

He turned away from her to grab a towel instead of waiting for her answer. Which was of course, “Yes, Mr. Gold, I’ll absolutely help you.”

It was then that she actually looked down at his right foot. A lattice work of white scar lines twined around the foot and ankle with little white dots to either side of them. Surgical scars. And even so, the foot looked distorted, warped. How did he even walk on that? Speaking of things not to pry about, Belle forced herself to look away and not say anything.

But he had seen her looking, seen her shock.

“It’s ok to look. Sometimes I think people should look more closely than they do at disability so maybe they will stop thinking it can't happen to them. Whether or not you were thinking that, Miss French, I mean no insult. I mean, that’s just how I feel about it, in general, oh forgive me! I am fatigued, Miss French, and my grumpiness is showing. What an embarrassment.” Mr. Gold trailed off and looked away from her again.

Belle was silent for a moment then she took his free hand in hers, “I think you’re right. So many people go through their lives thinking the worst can't possibly happen. And that’s a total delusion, because life catches up with everyone sooner or later. At least that’s what I think. Now come on, maybe we can make it feel better, even for a little while.”

Belle found her nervous smile returned and Mr. Gold kept her hand while they walked the few steps to the edge of the hot tub.

It took a little negotiating and some awkward futzing about before they managed to finish with Mr. Gold sitting comfortably on the ground on a towel with his feet in the hot water.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh.” Her unexpected companion did not even suppress his moan as the heat seeped into his body. Belle watched his uninhibited face and a warm feeling gathered inside her. He didn't reopen his eyes immediately, so Belle took the opportunity to ease herself into the hot water.

Divine. Perfect. Heavenly. Ahhhhhh was right. The tension of the last few days spent traveling began to unravel and Belle let herself float.

“Mmmmmmmm.” That was her own voice. Oh well.

After that silence fell but for the gentle slapping of water and occasional sigh from one or the other of them. Belle drifted with her eyes closed. She felt safe here, with Mr. Gold, a man she didn't know. There was something about him that made her feel comfortable.

She had no idea how long she had her eyes closed before she reopened them to the view of the pool-room ceiling. She took a deep breath and then let it out.

A soft chuckle came from beside her. Mr. Gold was smiling at her when she looked back at him, “I thought I might have to rescue you if you fell asleep and tried to drown.”

“You’d have saved me, Mr. Gold?” Belle teased him.

“I would. The headlines would be messy if I didn't.” The warmth in those brown eyes belied the flippant nature of his comment.

“How’s your foot feel?”

“Like I took pain medication, except that I haven't.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Belle rolled her shoulders and stretched out her neck.

When she looked back, Mr. Gold was removing the second of his sleeve garters. He pocketed them and proceeded to unhook his cuff links and pocket those as well. Though the gold cufflinks went in an interior pocket in his waistcoat. Belle watched as he rolled up his sleeves slowly, one at a time.

Maybe she shouldn't be watching this, but he had yet to do anything remotely salacious. It was just her mind. And her heart had started beating faster. He had lovely forearms, long slender fingers with the which he had just demonstrated an elegant dexterity. The hot water was getting to her, but she’d be damned if she cared.

He slipped his hands slowly beneath the surface of the water and flexed them. He wriggled his fingers and rolled his wrists while his eyes slid closed. He wore no ring. Maybe he was one of those men who was married but didn't wear a wedding ring. She knew that happened, even though she thought it was weird. But then if he were married, why would his sick son be staying with friends?

So maybe not.

Not that it was any of her business.

Then he leaned over, folding himself in half, to reach his foot. He began to rub. Belle watched his fingers as they worked. Then a bright flash of something fell into the tub.

Belle surged forward trying to snatch it but she missed and it sank precipitously toward the drain in the bottom of the tub. But her foot stomped firmly down and she felt the metal under her toes. She would have to immerse herself completely to retrieve it without risking dropping it again. Her toes just weren't that reliable for grabbing small pieces of gold off the bottom of pools.

So she did. Vaguely she heard Mr. Gold call out to her from under the water, but it was the work of moments to retrieve his cufflink and resurface.

His face looked alarmed and confused when she had swiped the water from her eyes, but when she held the gold link up for him to see his eyes widened in surprise, then alarm. He scrambled in his breast pocket for the other one and, finding it safe, his expression melted down into gratitude.

“I had my eyes closed, I’d never have known. Thank you so much Miss French. My son picked these out for me.” 

Belle delivered the precious cargo safely to the palm of his outstretched hand. “You’re welcome, Mr. Gold.” Then she hesitated. Courage, Belle, it's the right thing to do. “Maybe I could do that for you? So you don't have to bend down?”

For a moment, Belle thought he would refuse her. But then he seemed to come to a decision and nodded ever so slightly. He whispered, “I’d appreciate that.”

Belle smiled and then reached for his calf. In spite of the foot below, his leg felt well muscled, toned. She let her hands explore more than massage at first. His scars felt like little raised rivers crisscrossing his foot and ankle and beneath the bones felt as warped as they looked. Not knowing how much pressure would be welcome, Belle rubbed gently along the musculature she could feel and avoided putting pressure over the deformed bony structures.

“That feels good, Miss French.” She looked up to find his eyes closed and his hair falling forward around his face. It looked fine and soft.

Concentrate, Belle, you are helping with his pain, not indulging your fantasies.

Yeah, that last part was quickly becoming a lie. Belle knew herself and she knew she was rapidly coming to like Mr. Gold, more than she should.

Belle carefully, very carefully put his toes through their range of motion and then, hesitantly, did the same for his ankle. No protests or pained noises came, just relaxed deep breathing from her companion. Eventually she felt a bit more bold and began applying a bit more pressure to his muscles to which she got sighs of what she guessed was contentment because he didn't open his eyes.

Belle continued until she realized that she was starting to feel light headed, she had been in the tub too long and the threat of overheating was a real one. She rubbed up and down his calf once more before she murmured quietly, “I do apologize Mr. Gold, but I’m cooked through and I need to get out for a bit.”

His eyes flew open to meet hers instantly concerned, “Oh, yes of course, I forgot about that. Thank you so much.”

Belle dripped her way over to the towels and dried off before she returned to sit next to him and dangle her own feet.

“I feel much, much better.” Belle smiled as she kicked her feet.

“Me too, thank you very much, Miss French.” Mr. Gold had his hands in his lap and he was staring into the water. Then he smirked.

Belle was about to ask him what he had planned when he leaned over and pressed the big red button. The jets. When he returned to sitting up right the smirk had become a smug grin.

“Now I can rub your feet too, even if I have to cheat to do it.” Affectionate humor was a good color on him, Belle thought.

He was right though, the bubbles and propelled water currents felt very, very nice even if only her feet were in the water now. She saw his eyes drift closed again so Belle did the same.

A shriek and a splash behind them started Belle and Mr. Gold both and ruined their quiet relaxation.

But it was hard to stay mad because hotel pools really were meant for eight year olds and no decent person in the world would begrudge the kid her fun. The parents did notice that they were not alone in the pool room and gave apologetic shrugs as recompense for the noise.

Belle returned their smile, saw Mr. Gold doing the same and returned her attention to the hot water churning around her feet.

Mr. Gold murmured in her ear, “Perhaps we should find ourselves elsewhere in a few minutes. No child can resist a hot tub for long and I can't get soaked by splashing when we’re going to be sleeping in the car tonight. Speaking of which, we’ll need to take care that your hair has dried before we go outside.”

Belle nodded but wheedled, “‘Til the bubbles stop or the kid comes over, whichever is first?”

“Sounds reasonable, Miss French.”

In the end the bubbles lasted longer that the child’s self restraint and Belle had helped Mr. Gold to stand. The child had stared at his foot openly.

Mr. Gold had only smiled down at the soaked youth. He said, “My advice? Don't get your foot crushed by a shipping palate. It isn't pleasant.”

That answered that. At least as far as the mechanics were concerned.

Mr. Gold restored his suit to its proper state while Belle toweled her hair thoroughly. The man dressed meticulously, with care and attention. Belle envied the result because the best she could manage at the moment was bedraggled and damp. Belle gathered up their used towels and went to change back into her dry clothes.

When she returned Mr. Gold was standing, leaning on his cane and watching the youngster splash about in the bubbles getting every ounce of joy she could out of the jets of hot water. He said, “I wish I had brought a suit, I would dearly loved to have joined you. Our young friend definitely has the right idea.”

“She does.” Belle agreed with him.

“Your hair’s not dry enough, do you want me to towel it for you a bit more?” Mr. Gold’s statement seemed entirely practical until she saw color bloom on his cheeks again as he seemed to realize the implications of his suggestion.

Belle, however, agreed readily, “Yes, absolutely, it grows tiresome having my arms above my head.”

When she had seated herself on the lawn chair facing away from him, she allowed herself a small smile. Could it be that she wasn't alone in liking her traveling companion, maybe too much?

If his hands massaging her wet head were any indication, she was not alone. With the family present, though, she could not vocalize her appreciation with the groan of pleasure she felt. His hands were quite deft indeed and having them rubbing into her scalp felt amazing. Even through the towel.

And it took him two more towels to be satisfied that she would not parish from the cold due to wet hair.

On the way out of the pool room she murmured, “I find it endearing how seriously you are taking your promise to keep me safe on this trip.”

“I keep my promises, Miss French.”

For the remainder of the evening, they sat in the lobby taking turns reading the book Belle had with her aloud. Her Handsome Hero wouldn't have been the first book she’d have shared with a stranger, but it was all she had in her carry-on. She’d been fortunate to have planned for her layover in L.A. or she’d not have had a bathing suit either. Thus, beggars could not be choosers when it came to reading material.

It spoke well of Mr. Gold that with her explanation about how special this book was to her memories of her mother, he seemed rather more interested than less. And he had a wonderful reading voice. Smooth and thick with his native Scottish. Belle was reasonably sure that the titular character would forever speak in Mr. Gold’s voice from this moment on.

When the hour grew late at last and their voices were tired, Mr. Gold said regretfully, “Our luxury penthouse suite awaits. It comes complete with two bedrooms with king sized beds, a sunken living room with couches affording a stunning view of the skyline and dual jet showers with soaking tubs in the bathrooms. The kitchenette is stocked with wine, cheese and ridiculously small sandwiches and if that’s not enough to keep us until morning, we can always call for room service.”

Belle heard a snicker coming from the general direction of the front desk and cracked a grin herself. “Mr. Gold, you’ve spared no expense for our little journey. I’d almost think you were trying to impress me.”

“Is it working?”

“Absolutely. Let’s go see our room.”

Half a foot of fresh snow had fallen since they had gone to get Belle’s book from her luggage and they exchanged glances.

“I really hope we don't end up inside a snow bank come morning.” Mr. Gold looked up at the purple sky and tiny flakes stuck to his lashes. This snow was swirling so thickly that their sightline to their SUV across the single lane driveway was obscured.

“Is that a real concern? Could we suffocate?” Belle got nervous about their plan for the first time.

“I want to say no, but, maybe we should ask our delightful concierge to call us if more than three feet accumulate. I think we could get out the back with three feet. But we would have to spend the rest of the night in those extremely comfortable lobby chairs if that happens.” Mr. Gold was frowning around them.

“I’ll go ask and give her my number.” Belle said and he nodded.

By the time she returned to the car, Mr. Gold had had the engine running to chase away the freezer like temperatures inside the vehicle. He opened the back hatch for her and she climbed in having to shake off the snow to keep the inside dry.

“Is she agreeable?”

“She is. She promised to look after us and I think she will. Having her covert guests die on her watch would be bad for her career, I suppose.” Belle tugged off her shoes and left them in a corner as Mr. Gold had done.

“The good news is that I think we have enough gas since our last stop to give us enough heat for the night.” Mr. Gold told her.

“Are we going to run the car all night?” Belle didn't like that idea.

“We shouldn't have to. But we will probably have to wake up to rewarm the car at least once before morning.” His practicality and levelheadedness made Belle feel marginally better about their situation. He continued, “You can go to sleep now if you want. I will stay awake until the car is warm and turn it off before I join you.”

“Are you sure? That doesn't seem fair, I can stay up with you. You have to drive tomorrow too,” Belle insisted.

“You can get up later when the car gets too cold and stay up then to make up for it. Sound more fair?”

“It’s a deal.”

The floor of the car was not comfortable, but at least she could stretch out, not that she would for awhile though, because curled up in a ball and shivering was the only thing that was going to happen until the car warmed up.

But Belle had no idea how long that took because exhaustion overtook her and the next thing she knew she was snuggled up into another person who had his arms and legs wrapped around her and they were both shivering.

The car had chilled back down again, though she had no idea how long she’d been asleep. Mr. Gold was holding her securely against him and she was as tightly pressed against his body as she could get. It would have been either weird or thrilling if it weren't so cold. But it was so cold.

So she shook him awake gently, “Mr. Gold, I need you to let go of me so I can warm up the car, ok? I’ll be back as soon as it's warm again.”

“Huh?” He snuggled in closer, holding her tighter and nuzzling her hair.

Even breathing was all the more reply she would get to her first attempt to wake him.

“Mr. Gold.” Belle said much more loudly and she shook him again. “You need to let me warm up the car, it’s too cold in here.”

That time he woke up. Belle could tell the instant he focused on her and realized the state of matters between them because he looked suddenly terrified and he immediately disengaged his hold on her. “Oh, Miss French. I am terribly sorry, I was asleep, I promise I would not have been so presumptuous, so predatory on purpose.” 

He curled in on himself a second later as the cold made its impression on him.

Belle reached out and grasped his arm firmly, “Mr. Gold, we were keeping ourselves from freezing to death, it’s not a problem. Don't worry. Now I’m going to go start the car and get us warm. You go back to sleep and I’ll join you when I’m done. And I may spoon you because I’m really, really, fucking cold.”

“Quite right, Miss French. Quite right. It is fucking cold.”

Belle grabbed her jacket and wrapped it around her as snugly as possible before climbing into the driver’s seat and starting the car. It seemed to take an eternity for any heat at all to issue from the vents and in fact the damned car started by blowing arctic air straight into her face. As travel went, this was probably the worst she’d ever had it. Staying in the airport eating crackers might have been the safer option.

The windshield and all the windows were completely opaque with snow, but light from the streetlights was still getting in. Belle told herself it would be much darker if they really were stuck in a snow drift. Once little runnels of water began slipping down between the ice crystals on the glass in front of her, Belle dared turn on the windshield wipers. After a labored but successful swipe which cleared her view, Belle realized she probably shouldn't have done that. She might have broken the wipers if there was too much snow burden. She’d been lucky.

But the winter wonderland she could now see was beautiful to behold. Everything was covered in white. The other cars had been turned into softened white mounds under their snowy blankets. The snowfall had gotten lighter since she fell asleep though it was still fairly steady. It swirled and eddied like desert dust only it was cold and white and, she thought, spectral.

In that moment, Belle missed her mother. Death was such a strange thing. It made no sense how a living vital being could just disappear forever. And yet, her mother was gone. No more phone calls, no more greeting cards. No more birthday presents or warm hugs. Just gone. It didn't seem right.

So Belle imagined that her mother had become the snow settling around them, near, even if unable to respond to her. A fantasy she knew, people did not become snow, but Belle took comfort in it anyway. The church service had told her that her mother was in a better place waiting for her now. But bitterness and skepticism had set up shop in Belle’s heart since the world had yanked her mother from her, cruelly, unapologetically and completely.

It just wasn't right. Belle was angry still.

The wind whipped the snow into a frenzy and Belle watched as she waited to feel warm again.

Fatigue, however overtook her best of intentions so Belle set an alarm on her phone for thirty minutes from now and dozed off in the driver's seat.

The chime startled her awake in a warm, too warm, car. Belle switched off the ignition.

He had rolled around a bit since she had climbed into the front seat so Belle had to be careful not to land on Mr. Gold as she fumbled her way back between the seats toward the hopefully toasty warm covers. How had he managed with his foot? She should never have allowed him to do that for her in the first place. Next time, she wouldn't.

He was laying sprawled out on his back now with an arm outstretched. Belle only thought about it for a second before crawling in beside him to put her head on his chest and wrap herself around him. Her hand rested naturally over his shoulder and Belle couldn't stop herself from stroking his fine, and yes, incredibly soft hair. And he smelled faintly of aftershave still but mostly he smelled like him, a rich masculine scent.

Belle was too tired to acknowledge that she was probably taking advantage of him in his sleep and should not have been. It was going to get cold again and she wanted as much sleep as possible between now and then. That was how she rationalized burying her nose in his neck before she drifted off.

Weak daylight filtered through the snow covered glass of the car when Mr. Gold woke her, much as she had woken him in the night. They were both shivering in the freezing car and clinging to each other.

“Miss French, wake up. You need to wake up and let me start the car before we freeze to death. Wake up, Miss French. If I’ve already caused you hypothermia, I’ll have broken my word to you. I can't let that happen. Wake. Up.” His Scottish in her ear was a textured, layered sound and if not for the truly horrific cold, a lovely thing to wake up to.

“I’m awake, I'm awake. You haven't frozen me.” But instead of obeying her practical brain Belle clung even tighter to him shivering. He was doing the same. They were both in danger from the cold and they both knew it. “We have got to get that heat on. I’ll do it.”

She forced herself away from the meager heat his body afforded them and launched her shaking self into the front seat with her teeth chattering loudly as soon as she was out from under her covers.

But she didn't give herself the chance to second guess what she did next.

She yanked the comforter open long enough to dive under and clutch him tightly against her again. She gritted out through her quaking jaw, “Shut up, we’re both too cold. Just don't think about it and keep me warm.”

He said nothing and clung to her as they shivered together.

The cold was deep and aching and bitter. Her muscles hurt from tension and wracking waves of clenching shivers. Her toes were numb and she just couldn't stop shaking. Had Mr. Gold not woken them when he did, they would have been in trouble.

Mr. Gold himself feebly ran his hands over her back between his own shivers and she imagined if he could even feel his injured foot just how badly it had to hurt. What if he had frost bite? What if they both did? Her frigid fingers clamped around the back of his head holding him tightly against her. She couldn't feel his hair though through the numbness of her digits. She tried to rub his neck, but she could tell it was pretty ineffectual.

Probably half an hour later, they could both tell that the car had reached a comfortable temperature, but their shivers had yet to subside. However, their hands wandered over backs and briskly up and down arms. Their legs and feet rubbed against one another and they could feel the car rocking in response to their frenetic movement.

Belle knew very well what appearances would be from the outside, but she didn't care, they needed to warm one another. When only occasional shudders ran through them, they lay still again, tired from the effort.

“Was it good for you?” Belle whispered quietly.

A breathy wheeze of a laugh was the response in her ear. Then, after a pause he murmured, “Best hypothermia rescue I’ve ever had. You?”

“I was a hypothermia virgin, so I can safely say the same.”

“I guess I was under the misapprehension that there was some scandalous nudity involved in the process, though. Bit of a let down in that department, I guess. But I shouldn't have said that. My apologies, Miss French.” Even so he had not let go of her and she was laying half on his chest with his arms fully around her now.

“I read once that for that to work at least one person has to actually be warm. Neither of us were. And don’t worry Mr. Gold, I won't tell anyone you’re human and think of nudity when you have a woman in your arms. Scandalous indeed.”

To her delight he chuckled a bit and rubbed her back one more.

“We do need to get going. And we need to call ahead and find someplace, any place to stay tonight. This wasn't a safe idea and we can't do it again.” He was right about that.

So Belle spent the first hour of their drive searching the internet for any vacancies at all. She did find one, but they only had one room, and one bed at that, but worst of all it meant at least ten hours in the car that day if they made good time.

Which they didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost feel bad for putting them through that, but they'll thank me later.


	3. Chapter 3

The Cozy Town Inn was a two star at best establishment. A layer of grease seemed to cover every surface of the room, but after thirteen hours of tense driving through terrifying conditions, it felt like a palace.

Belle’s travel partner looked like he might cry in relief at the site of a real bed, even if the comforter had cigarette burns amid the rather conspicuous stains.

Dinner came from a seldom stocked vending machine and the tea may as well have been made from ash for how cheap it was. But the water was hot at least.

Mr. Gold’s foot was obviously in a sorry state because he was barely putting weight on it and he had asked Belle to fetch their dinner, such as it was. She knew he was hurting.

Belle pulled her wet bathing suit out of the plastic bag she had stuffed it in the night before trying to hide her disgust and discomfort.

Mr. Gold looked at her in puzzlement, “There’s not even a pool here, never mind a hot tub, oh you want to dry it. Of course.”

“No, well yes, but you are going to let me rub your foot and this is the best I can do considering the tiny tub we have to work with.” Belle told him straight exactly how it was going to be.

He stared at her, then darted a look at the foot he had propped up. Then he said, “I have no bathing suit and no change of clothes available. I can't get my clothes wet. I truly appreciate what you’re trying to do for me, but it just doesn't seem,” he hesitated, “thank you anyway.”

Belle took a deep breath, “I will fill up the tub, you will sit on the toilet seat and soak your feet while I do what I can to help with your pain. I won't take no for an answer.”

Mr. Gold’s eyes grew suspiciously shiny. It took him a moment to nod, then he murmured, “I’ll let you change.”

She gave him a grim smile before closing the door to the bathroom and putting on the cold, wet and bad smelling bathing suit.

“Come on then,” she said when she’d finished.

It went just as Belle had described to him. She hadn't been prepared for him to moan in pain and flinch away from her, but he had insisted that he needed her to continue anyway, that she was helping, not hurting. The stiffness in his foot was shocking and Belle took a good deal of time working some suppleness back into his limb. At least the cramped and only marginally clean bathroom had a heat lamp in the ceiling.

Neither of them spoke much while she worked and his uneven breathing told her loud and clear just how much their night spent in the back of a car had cost him. It also told her when he had started to feel a bit better because his breathing evened out and at last he relaxed into her hands.

“Is that better?” she asked at last.

“Yes, so much better, yes, yes,” he whispered. “Thank you, you certainly didn't have to do that.”

“I would never let you suffer if I could help it.” Belle found herself feeling like she had just made a very serious promise to someone she cared deeply about. Which was preposterous because she barely knew this man and she would never see him again once he dropped her off in Portland.

He gave her a sad smile. “I think I’m safe with you as a traveling companion.”

“That you are, Mr. Gold.” She returned his sad smile, then continued rubbing. Maybe his foot felt a little better, but it still seemed stiffer now than it had yesterday.

After a few moments she asked, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

His answer was immediate, “No, of course not, no such thing exists.” He paused for a moment then continued in a milder tone, “I suppose, though, that those who do must have an unfortunate reason for their belief. Do you believe in ghosts?”

“No. I don't. But I thought about it last night while I was warming the car and watching the snow. I imagined my mother as a white wisp of ice wrapping herself around the car. It was comforting at the time. Now it just sounds creepy.”

“I’m sorry about your mother.” His hand squeezed her bare shoulder briefly.

“How does that feel now?”

“Much, much better. I can't thank you enough.”

“Good, because my fingers are getting tired. I’m no professional at this, after all.” She stood and stretched in the cramped bath tub. “Now you need to get out so I can shower and hang this suit to dry. If I'm that lucky and the heater works adequately in this place.”

“Oh, yes, yes of course. I’ll just get dried off and leave you to it.” Which he did.

Belle herself felt miles better with clean hair, a warm body and wearing proper pajamas.

Then she remembered that poor Mr. Gold had no change of clothes. At all. Maybe tomorrow the weather would have let up enough for them to stop somewhere to buy some clean under things at least.

Mr. Gold was reading her book when she emerged. He looked up, “I hope you don't mind, but it was on top and your pack was open.”

“Not at all. I’m pleased you are enjoying it enough to choose it over TV.”

“No contest, Miss French.” Then he gave her a defeated smile, “Not that it will do much good since I don't have clean clothes, but I am going to shower as well. No need to wait up for me though if you’re tired.”

“Makes sense, Mr. Gold. I am tired. Good night.”

He slipped into the bathroom and she was asleep before the water turned on.

Waking up warm on something soft was certainly a welcome change from the last two nights of her life. The strong pair of arms around her surprised her though. Somehow in the night they had curled up together. She was the little spoon this morning and their legs were tangled.

“We should get moving,” he whispered to her.

“You’re awake? You should have woken me up when you did.” Belle murmured a half hearted admonition.

“I haven't been awake long, and I would have had to soon anyway. Good morning.” He said all this into her shoulder without moving a muscle.

Or saying anything about how they were snuggled up like kittens.

“You want the bathroom first?” Belle offered.

“You go ahead, if my underthings are even a little bit drier before I have to put them on, I’ll be happier.” He nuzzled her shoulder then loosened the arm he had around her waist so she was free to move.

She didn't at first, but sighed and snuggled in a little more. “It feels like the first time I’ve been warm and days.”

“Another reason I didn't wake you or behave more as a gentleman should. We’re warm for a change.” He didn't move away from her with this comment either.

“If we want to find someplace warm again tonight, we’re going to have to move.”

“Hush, I’m in denial.”

“You were the one who made noise about getting moving.”

“Changed my mind.” He tightened his hold around her once more and sighed into her hair.

It really was very nice. He was warm and solid behind her and she felt secure in his arms. Belle supposed whatever awkwardness there should have been between them as two strangers in this situation had been lost in trying to survive hypothermia yesterday. They knew next to nothing about one another except that they were two human beings who, for the moment, were comfortable. Social convention could go straight to hell.

Belle closed her eyes again. She would probably never wake up next to him like this again. Ever. Tonight, since the weather was scheduled to ease up, the roads would clear and if they made good time, they’d make it to Boston before conceding to fatigue and doing the last leg to Portland the following day. That most likely meant two separate rooms. That should have been a cheery thought, but it wasn't.

Loneliness had been threatening her since she got on the plane days ago, but in this moment, it was nowhere to be found. Belle had the company she wanted. And she didn't even know his first name.

“Alright, Mr. Gold, time to get our lazy asses out of bed.” Belle said at last and she pulled away from him.

She couldn't help but smile at the disappointed groaning from behind her. It was practically a whine.

By the time she came out of the bathroom, he was standing before the mirror running his fingers through is tousled hair.

“Your turn, can't promise your things are dry though,” Belle gave him a wry smile through the mirror.

“They say happiness is fleeting.” He gave her a little smile in return. “But,” he added, “The car has heated seats so at least I can be warm and damp instead of cold and damp.”

It was everything Belle could do not to laugh outright at his none-too-subtle wriggling about in his seat as they warmed up the car.

“Oh go ahead and laugh, Miss French. Someone should. Cold, wet underthings are always amusing when they are someone else's burden.”

If she had thought him truly embarrassed, she’d have kept a lid on it, but the tiny smirk and continued discomfited shifting resulted in a gasping snort and then an all out belly laugh.

After a moment, he joined her. And he was dazzling when he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally apologize to Mr. Gold about the wet undies, that wasn't nice.


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as the last of the slush had disappeared from the freeway, Belle took over the driving and by nightfall, Mr. Gold gave her careful directions to a high-rise downtown. Huge gold lettering proclaimed “The Empress.”

“We’re staying here?” Belle gaped at him.

“Well, yes. I promised you a penthouse and they are used to my custom by now.” He had that little smirk on his lips and his eyes glittered at her. Belle gaped at him until he gestured toward her window. A valet stood patiently outside her door. She rubber-necked back at Mr. Gold and he nodded. “It’s fine, I assure you.”

At the desk Mr. Gold said, “We were separated from our luggage and will require attire for dinner this evening, you have my particulars still?”

“We do, Mr. Gold, and it is wonderful to see you again.”

“And you, George. Miss French, if you will give the gentleman your particulars, he will take care of you. I’ll just see to our reservations.” With that he stepped away leaving her to stare at the butler-like gentleman waiting patiently for her attention. This was the same man suffering from wet underwear she had been laughing at this morning? What?

“It is such a trial to be separated from what we need, Miss French, is it? If you’ll give me your dress size and any measurements you know, I promise to get everything squared away to your satisfaction before dinner.” George’s expression looked so warm and caring that Belle almost believed he enjoyed licking the heels of rich people.

But the thought of being cared about was intoxicating and Belle found herself smiling and ducking her head in embarrassment. “I hardly know what to say, but thank you.”

Belle gave George what he asked for and wished she could afford to give him the tip he so clearly deserved, but Belle French couldn't afford the bottled water in this hotel, let alone a non-insulting tip.

George seemed to pick up on her discomfort, but rather than give her a snobbish scoff of disdain he murmured, “Miss French, don't worry about me. Mr. Gold always takes care of us very well. And, if I may, it is so wonderful to see he has company this visit.”

Mortified, Belle paled and backed up a step in embarrassed indignation, “I am no such thing!”

“Oh no! Miss French, I did not mean to imply, no, no, no,” George threw up his hands waving frantically and blushed to his hairline, “Nothing like that! I only meant that Mr. Gold is such a lonely man. For such a kind hearted person, it is hard to see him always alone. I am glad you’re here. It comforts me to think Mr. Gold has a friend in this world.”

Belle stared at George whose expression was begging her to understand. Finally she said, “I am his friend, so I am glad you’re comforted.”

George smiled widely and then said a little too loudly, “Miss French, it should take about an hour and then we’ll bring it up to you.”

Belle then saw Mr. Gold approaching from her periphery.

“Thank you, George.” Mr. Gold said giving the man a smile.

Belle echoed her companion and met George's pleased eyes again before turning away after Mr. Gold.

“It’s just as you described. Just before our interlude in a freezer.” Belle stared around their penthouse.

“I couldn't have made this up all on my own, Miss French.” Mr. Gold’s eyes crinkled warmly at the corners and he seemed pleased with her smiling at him.

So she didn't look away immediately. But she couldn't put off exploring for long. She raced toward the wall of glass looking out over water with the skyline stretching away in gleaming lighted towers.

He came up beside her, “So am I forgiven for the freezer incident?”

Belle turned to him and found a contrite and shy expression on his face. “As if there were anything to forgive. I confess I wasn't prepared for what this trip would actually be like when I agreed to it, but I always did want adventure. And it seems like it will end well.”

He looked down at the floor, “We’ll reach Portland easily tomorrow and I’ll take care of your bus ticket as I promised.”

What George had just revealed to her now seemed so obvious Belle wondered how she had missed it before. “Look, I’ll leave my email address with you, if you want. No pressure, but if you’re not too busy, you could write to me sometimes.”

His eyes met hers. Was that relief? “I’d like that very much.”

She nodded then, when he looked back out over the darkened cityscape she did the same. They could hear the rain against the glass in the quiet that settled between them.

Belle hoped she had not been too forward with him. He seemed such a private man. Surely offering an address and asking nothing in return wasn't intrusive. And Belle began imagining what his letters might be like. An epistolary novel had half unfolded in her mind before he broke the silence.

“Miss French, we have reservations in about forty-five minutes, if you want to settle in at all before we eat. You have your own bathroom en-suite. Make your choice of the bedrooms and I’ll take the other.”

Did he sound disappointed or was she reading into his statement due to the thematic material she had just been fantasizing about? “Oh, thank you Mr. Gold. I will most certainly do that. Is that one ok?”

Belle pointed behind him.

“Yes of course. You should find fresh toiletries well stocked. And please let me know if there’s anything you need.” Mr. Gold did sound somber.

His attempts to hide his melancholy from her were too much to bear. With a surge of courage, Belle hugged him tightly. It took a moment for his free arm to wrap around her and for his cheek to find its way to her head, but when he had relaxed into her embrace, she whispered, “Thank you, Mr. Gold. I don't know why you’d go to such trouble, but I appreciate it.”

“I nearly killed you, both of us, in the back of a rental car with my poor judgement after promising to keep you safe. I aim to make up for that rather considerable faux pas.” He held her firmly against him and began to rock them ever so slightly.

“You couldn't have known there would be no rooms anywhere. You couldn't have. And we made it. Well, we will tomorrow anyway. So stop worrying. You’re a kind man trying to do his best, and I find no fault.”

“Then I beg you to look no closer so your shiny view of me remains untarnished.” He sounded half desperate so Belle rubbed his back trying to comfort a hurt she could tell was there but did not understand.

“Ok,” she said as she finally pulled away from him, “I’ll be back out in a moment.”

Belle had barely finished in the restroom before she heard a knock at the door.

Mr. Gold answered, “Alice! It's so good to see you!”

“And you Mr. Gold. I’ve tacked up your hem to what I have on file for you, but you’ll just go and slip them on so I can be sure? And Mr. Gold, I took extra trouble when I saw the other part of your order! George tells me you are finally here with a lovely lady! I have her dress already. I can't wait to meet her! George just couldn't contain himself! Where is she?” Alice had left no doubt as to how she felt about Mr. Gold having company. From her voice alone, Belle felt certain Alice wanted to enhance Mr. Gold’s chances of a pleasant evening any way she could.

Belle stood behind her closed door now feeling very self-conscious and more than a little terrified at the prospect of facing the dress this hotel had chosen with the express purpose of getting Mr. Gold laid. Her face was on fire.

Mr. Gold replied softly, but Belle could still hear him, “George needs to stop fussing and mind his own business.” Not harsh, but firm enough. “I’ll just see if she’s ready for you.”

Belle danced back from the door just in time. He knocked softly, “Miss French, Alice is here to see to you, whenever you’re ready. I’ll be in my room changing if you need anything.”

Belle waited a deliberate beat in an attempt to avoid being caught obviously eavesdropping, “Oh, yes Mr. Gold, I’m almost done.”

She heard his cane tapping softly on the carpet as he returned his attention to Alice, “It’ll just be a moment, I’m sure.”

“You be sure to tell me if those sleeves aren't just right, Mr. Gold.”

“I have complete confidence in your miraculous skills, Alice.”

Belle heard Alice chuckle and then a moment later the soft thud of a door closing. After another three breaths, Belle came out of her room feeling very uncomfortable.

Her tailor, or were women called seamstresses? Belle didn't know and googling it right then would definitely be gauche. Anyway, Alice gave Belle a radiant smile just as if she were not wearing jeans and a wool sweater.

“George was right! Oh! Oh! You are exquisite my dear, Miss French is it?” Alice was bubbling all over the place, plucking at Belle’s sweater and tugging at her jeans.

“Please, call me Belle.”

“Your name is Belle?” At her nod, Alice beamed, “How perfect. I’m Alice and I have the perfect ensemble for you tonight. You are going to love it, now, do you trust your Mr. Gold not to peek or shall we do this in your room?”

“Oh, he’s not my Mr. Gold-”

“Aww! That can't be right! George never lies. Your room it is, come, come!” Alice bustled past her with a garment bag and a small duffle.

The sad truth was that Belle didn't know anything about dresses or fashion. But Alice clearly did.

All Belle knew for certain was what she said when Alice got her into the dress:

“This is stunning, Alice, I don't even have the words.” Standing barefoot in front of the full length mirror in the bathroom, Belle thought she looked dressed more for a coronation than for dinner. “How, I mean, how did you do all this? How does it work, with the hotel and I mean. That’s probably terribly rude of me, but I’m just a country girl from Australia, I don't know these things. And this is so, so much.”

Alice smiled broadly, like she was witnessing the cutest toddler in the world rip open a present. “It’s magic, and it’s what we do. I have the most fun job. I make miracles and I make people happy. Now, let’s see those ears.”

Before Belle could object, Alice had dug through her messy hair and was thumbing her earlobe. 

“I, uh, what?” Belle managed.

“Perfect, perfect. I just know he’ll be pleased.” And with that, Alice pulled a few jewelry boxes from the duffle.

Belle didn't know whether to giggle uncontrollably or scream for help because Alice was making Belle into someone Belle herself had never seen before.

The earrings were first, they were what looked like opals, though Belle’s limited experience with such things made her uncertain, but they shimmered where they dangled from their short gold chains. Simple in design maybe, but breathtaking.

The necklace was also gold, a complicated loose plait that boggled the eye, but not so overstated as to weigh down the overall effect. Another opal dipped into her cleavage, which was more than Belle ever thought she’d have on display. But objecting didn't seem to be the thing to do just now.

Besides which, her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Alice had clasped a matching bracelet to her wrist before Belle had stopped staring at her own wares. 

“Now the hair, yes I chose just right.” Alice did seem to be having the time of her life.

Even having watched the entire spectacle take place, Belle could not have explained how it happened or duplicated it had her life depended on it.

Somehow her hair was up and out of her face, pinned in organized, but artful curls. A few tendrils hung down to frame her face, but not obscure, or tangle with, those incredible earrings.

And the hair pins, they were gold with what Belle feared were diamonds which caught the light when she moved.

Belle French stared in terror at her reflection. What had she gotten herself into? Driving across the country with a strange man had been a bold (foolish) enough leap, and of course there was the horrifying first night, but nothing in her wildest dreams had prepared her for this surreal moment.

Alice was waiting and her face was falling, her lip starting to tremble. Oh, no, Belle had to say something and it had to be the right thing.

“Alice, I,” She had to stop and regroup. “This is, is, you’re right, it’s magic.”

The relief in the other woman’s face brought tears to the back of Belle’s eyes because what she had to say next she knew would not go over well.

“Alice, I have to ask, because I’m not, I don't fit here. Is this, are these,” Belle gestured at the jewels, “real?”

Alice clucked in disapproval, “Of course they are my little fawn. Wherever did he find you?”

“In an airport.” Belle answered honestly before she realized she really should have kept that to herself. Alice’s quizzical expression made Belle flush with embarrassment. “Alice, I don't know where to start on how amazing this is, or how your work makes me feel like royalty, but I can't wear the jewelry.”

“Why on earth not?” Alice hid none of her indignation.

“What if I lose it? I couldn't pay for even one of these pieces, never mind the, how many diamonds did you just put in my hair? A loan of this magnitude I could never hope to cover in my life time.” Directness, just get it out there. Belle felt mortified to be having this discussion.

Alice burst out laughing. “These are not on loan! None of this is. We don't do that. Oh no, these are yours now, unless Mr. Gold means to take them back, which he would never do. He trusts us to do our jobs and we don't let him down.”

Belle choked, sputtered and began to panic.

“Ok, ok, deep breaths, it’s ok. Really, he’s good for it. You don't have to worry about a thing, calm down and soothe those feathers, little duckling.” Alice ran her hands over the bare skin of Belle’s back. “It’s ok, it’s ok.”

“No, no it’s not ok. A random stranger offers to help me get to Maine because we’re stranded at the airport. We drive across the country and now this? He swore there were no strings attached and that he expected nothing of me! This isn't what a man who expects nothing does!” Her shrill whisper probably carried further than she wished despite her best efforts. At last she gasped out, “Oh shit, is he mob? Mafia? Whatever they do in Scotland?”

Alice seized her arms so hard Belle thought she might bruise, but it worked: she shut up. “Now you listen here, Belle. It’s very clear you don't know Mr. Gold very well so pay close attention to what I am about to tell you. He’s not mob. Every wealthy person ever isn’t a crook and a liar. It’s my job to differentiate among my clientele. My discretion and expertise keep me employed. Mr. Gold isn't going to hurt you or ask you for anything, except maybe polite conversation and he can more than hold up his side. So unless you’re allergic to talk, you have nothing to fear.”

Belle was about to reply but Alice squashed whatever she had been about to say when she plowed ahead.

“And most importantly, you’re not going to ruin that man’s evening and here’s why. This institution has cared for Mr. Gold for decades. We get to know our customers very well in order to meet their needs and make them comfortable. That man out there, waiting to see you happy, waiting to take you to dinner, has not smiled in the last ten years. George came running back to tell me, and the entire staff is abuzz. He had to show me the surveillance footage or I would not have believed it myself. Our Mr. Gold came in glowing, smiling, a completely changed man. Transformed. I don't care how you met, or how you ended up here, but you’ve done something good for him. I’m asking you now, even if you despise him deep down, to give him this one dinner. These few bobbles and a frock are nothing next to a few hours of happiness. Do you understand me?” Alice had glued her gaze to Belle’s so Belle could see the moisture gathered in the other woman’s eyes. Alice cared for Mr. Gold’s happiness.

“Do you know why he’s so sad? He told me his son is sick, why he needed to get back home rather than wait for the next flight, but there’s something else, isn't there?” Belle whispered earnestly.

Alice's eyes got large. “He has a son?!”

“Maybe I shouldn't have said, but you just told me how well you know Mr. Gold-”

“We know our customers through their needs and their habits. Twenty years worth of habits speak volumes. But no, we did not know he has a son. And no, none of us knows why he is so sad in spite of a great effort to find out. You saw it in even such a short acquaintance, imagine what it’s like to have watched that for years on end.” Alice pleaded with Belle. “Please, please do this for him.”

Belle nodded.

A tear escaped Alice’s eye and she swiped at it. Then she hugged Belle tightly. “Good then, very good. Now, are you allergic to any skin care products?”

Ten minutes later, Belle stood beside Alice behind the closed door to her bedroom.

“You’re going to be just fine. Trust me.” Alice whispered, “Now go make him happy.”

Belle gave Alice an uncertain look and the other woman squeezed her hand. Belle squeezed back and stepped out into the living room.

Mr. Gold stood in front of a mirror with his back to her running a comb through his hair. When their eyes met through the reflection, he dropped the comb.

Belle could see Alice grinning broadly out of the corner of her eye as he turned to face them. Yes, Alice had every right to be proud of her art, but Belle wished she felt less like a doll dressed up for someone else’s entertainment. She’d agreed to do this because she too cared for Mr. Gold’s happiness, she’d try to alleviate a sorrow like that in anyone if she possibly could, but feeling like an object didn't sit right with her.

But then again, now a handsome man in an immaculate tuxedo stood opposite her, looking like he hoped he’d made her happy. With his eyebrows raised ever so slightly and a question on his parted lips, Belle didn't know what to think, let alone say. What a tangled mess of emotions to sort out.

He stared, and she stared back. He started to smile a little but his lip quivered and even from across the room, Belle could see wetness appear in his eyes.

Suddenly Alice started fluttering about like a humming bird. She appeared at Mr. Gold’s side tugging at his jacket sleeve, adjusting the cuff, brushing off imaginary lint.

“What do you say to the lady, Mr. Gold?” Belle heard Alice hiss none to quietly in his ear. “Come now, it’s not polite to stare.”

Then, when all he did was blink rapidly, Alice pinched his bottom. Hard, from the look of things.

The indignant and furious pout Mr. Gold turned on her melted under Alice’s steely glare of reproof. “The lady, Mr. Gold, don't they teach manners in Scotland?”

If she could have laughed without adding to Mr. Gold’s mortification, she might have, but his silence was making her feel even more unsettled, so in an effort to hide that, she raised a quizzical eyebrow at him.

“Belle.” It was a soft whisper, but in the silent room she heard him clearly. Hearing her name from him for the first time sent a thrill running through her she had not expected. She saw him swallow. “It’s not my opinion that’s important here, do you, do you like it? Is it ok?”

That she had not expected. Honestly, in all her shock, Belle had not given a thought to whether she liked any of what Alice had put on her or not. Her own sense of taste had not figured into the process. She had been too afraid of what it all meant, of whether she was going to have to figure out how to sneak away and run. To somehow find her own way to Storybrooke.

She looked down at herself lips parted for an answer that should have been instant but wasn't. Did she like the dress? The jewelry? Not was it a pretty dress, or did it look good on her, but did she, Belle French, like it? Was it ok?

She looked back up at Mr. Gold, but she was too late. His face had fallen and he rushed his words, tripping over them, “I will want to have dinner with you no matter what you wear. In your jeans if you would feel more comfortable. And if the restaurant doesn't suit, I will take you somewhere else. The point is dinner and that you are happy and comfortable. The rest of this non-sense is just that if it doesn't make you happy. Please, I-”

Alice looked horrified and like she might cry when Belle glanced at her, but she had to get him to stop talking. “Mr. Gold, this is by far the loveliest thing I have ever had anywhere near my person let alone worn.”

“But?” He said that for her, his eyes blinking too rapidly.

“But I’m not comfortable and I’m not sure that it’s ok.” Belle heard the pleading in her own voice and she started toward him reaching out a hand. Alice half sobbed half moaned in horror but Belle couldn't look at her.

He met her halfway, “I confess I got swept away by the moment. After eating out of a vending machine last night, I just forgot to take your comfort with our arrangement into account. I certainly don't know you well enough to have presumed so far. I apologize.”

He said all of this looking at the floor.

“Alice, none of this has anything to do with your remarkable skills and competence. I am very grateful for the care you’ve shown me, but would you mind if we discussed this in private?” Belle somehow kept her voice level.

“You know how to reach me, Mr. Gold, with any further needs. Miss French.” Alice gave her a frown and then quickly left.

When Alice had left, Mr. Gold brought damp eyes up to meet hers. “I am so, so sorry about this. I really did get carried away.”

“Mr. Gold, please shut up.”

He blinked at her in surprise, but said nothing more.

“Ok, this is weird and I am uncomfortable. But, but you said just the right thing to make it ok. You care, as if, as if it’s ok with you if I feel out of place. Am I making any sense?” Belle clenched and unclenched sweaty fists.

“I don't know yet, keep trying?” Mr. Gold’s murmur sounded strained.

“Alice is wonderful at what she does, I feel like I’ve just been visited by my fairy godmother, and then I sent her away, oh gods, but Mr. Gold, I felt a bit like a doll and I was scared that you, well, that you had things quite aside from dinner in mind. But then you asked if I was ok with this.” Belle heaved a breath before going on, “Alice told me you’ve been sad a long time and that I should care enough to try to make you happy. And I agreed to that, but I couldn't lie to you. You deserved to know how I feel about this.” Belle stopped, looked away from him, and then back having made up her mind, “But I’m willing to be uncomfortable because you care enough for that to make a difference to you.”

He looked befuddled and uncertain and he took a long moment to gather his thoughts before speaking again, “I, uh. I did imagine tonight a little like a fairytale. I’ve always been the frog, not the one that gets kissed, the other one who continues to live in the mud and looks on all the while. I just imagined you might enjoy going to the ball, as you deserve, even if you had to go with a frog. I forgot that you and I don't know each other well enough for all this not to seem, well, excessive? Outlandish? Gaudy? Pretentious? I don't know what you think, obviously.”

Mr. Gold shook his head trying to clear up his thoughts after his rambling. “What I mean to say is that all I want out of this evening is your company for dinner, if you’re willing. We can go and find street food if that would make you happy. It truly wouldn't matter to me.”

Belle smiled then, trying to catch his eyes. When she did she said, “Seems a shame to waste Alice’s work though, don't you think?”

“I’ll be a frog in a tux no matter what she tries, but you didn't give me a straight answer. Do you like what you’re wearing?” With his eyes so intently upon her, Belle couldn't look away.

Belle traced the lace vine accent that hugged her figure as it wound over the garment with a nervous hand. The dress was a cream colored soft fabric with built-in support. It fit her like a second skin from the waist up and then draped gently to just above the knee. She could move comfortably and she would not have to contort herself to sit down without being indecent.

She whispered, “Let’s have a look, I haven’t really had a chance to admire it.”

She took his arm and nudged him to accompany her to the mirror he had been using.

“Then you’ll give me your honest opinion?” Mr. Gold pressed.

“I will.”

And so they stood together in front of the mirror. Holding his arm as she was, Belle could see the matching opal cufflinks poking out the ends of his sleeves. The buttons on his waistcoat were also opals. He looked resplendent to her. And most importantly, he looked comfortable, like this elegance was normal to him, expected.

“I believe I was asking about your dinner clothes, not mine.” He caught her staring and Belle smirked at him as she tried not to blush.

“And if I like yours?” Cheeky felt better than the awkwardness of a moment ago.

“I suppose we can switch, but it might take Alice a bit to work out the adjustments.”

A genuine smile bloomed across her face and she giggled. Then she returned her attention to the task at hand. Did she like her clothes or not?

Even with the attempt to refocus, her eye wandered from her own reflection to their reflection. What she saw was a matched set of people. She’d never been a part of a set before. It only took another second after that feeling settled in for her to relax into the dress, for the jewelry to feel less like a terrifying burden.

As she looked Belle realized that while Belle would never had selected this dress for herself, it wasn't because she didn't like the style or the way it fit or the color. Belle wouldn't have chosen this dress because this dress would never be found in any store she shopped in. And that wasn't a reason not to like it.

All of the choices were right for her from style to color, this dress fit her perfectly and it showed her off to excellent effect.

She met his gaze again in the mirror. He looked nervous, waiting beside her for her verdict.

“Mr. Gold, this dress is perfect for me. And yes, I like it, very much.” Belle turned to face him properly, finding herself anxious for him to believe her.

He only looked into her eyes for a moment before he smiled, “That’s good, because not only would I not look nearly as good in it as you, my reputation here would be shattered. I have no doubt you’d pull off the tux with grace though.”

They both smiled and laughed and Belle reached up to adjust his bow tie, “I would look good in a tux, I think.”

“I’ll remember that for next time.” He winked at her.

Belle narrowed her eyes at him playfully in return. “So you said you were going to feed me, or was that just an excuse to play dress up?”

“Why Miss French, are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

He smiled at her, tucked her hand securely in the crook of his elbow and they left the room.

Belle couldn't help but smile at the staff who were all doing double takes, not at her so much but at them together, and she wondered if Mr. Gold had even noticed. He had focused on her and had carried on steadily about the city’s history and certain tea wasting incidents.

George couldn't help himself though. He came sashaying out from behind his desk and spread his arms wide, “What a lovely couple! We are all so pleased we get to see you for dinner tonight. I’ll take you right in personally.”

“Thank you, George.” Belle smiled at the beaming man. “Would you be so kind as to pass along my personal compliments and appreciation to Alice?”

“Oh I will, Miss French. With pleasure.”

From that moment, Belle fell happily into the fairytale evening Mr. Gold had envisioned. And it was easy, because he made it easy. His menu recommendations were helpful and they shared each other’s food. Alice was more than correct about his abilities as a conversationalist. He listened and asked as much as he spoke and shared, a pleasant, easy rhythm to the conversation.

He told Belle about his antiques business and how a wise investment had been the seed of his success. A tension released somewhere deep when he told her that the shipping palate incident had occurred in his early twenties when he was working in a shipyard as a stevedore. He had grown up poor in Glasgow and finding that he was no stranger to poverty helped Belle believe what he had said about wanting her comfort over everything else.

And comfortable she was. The food was excellent and she had to be mindful of not drinking too much rosé. 

Though they talked for hours past the dessert and cheese and tea courses, his recent history never came up somehow and he never volunteered why melancholy seemed to be coursing just under his skin, as much a part of him as his bloodstream. And Belle didn't ask.

She wanted to know, wanted to comfort him if she could, but it was more than clear that that topic was off limits, out of bounds and not to be touched.

So instead she told him stories of kangaroos in the backyard and reading all the time as a child. 

He yawned first.

Belle reached across the table and squeezed his hand, “Mr. Gold, this has been truly magical. I hope you will write to me. I only know my father here in the states, aside from you now, so it would be nice to hear from someone familiar from time to time.”

He squeezed her hand, “Of course I’ll write to you. And, if you’re ever inclined to come back to Boston, you could let me know. Maybe when it’s warmer, I could show you the city, if you wanted.”

Warmth settled in Belle’s middle, “I think that sounds wonderful. Now, I think, we are both tired and we still have a lot of travel to do tomorrow.” 

He smiled sadly, “That we do. Ready?”

“No, but yes.”

She took his arm again as they returned to their suite and they walked in a comfortable silence.

Inside, Belle kicked off her shoes to pad barefoot toward her room but then stopped midway. “Mr. Gold?”

“Yes?” He had made it as far as the mirror and was untying his tie.

“If it’s not too much to ask, would you assist me, with,” Belle gestured at herself, “this?”

He smirked and tried to stifle a laugh, rather unsuccessfully. “Of course I will.”

He left his tie loose around his neck and followed her into her bathroom.

“You need an unzip?”

“Well, yes,” Belle saw her own blush in the mirror, “but I need you to find all the pins in my hair. I’m afraid of losing them. And to unclasp everything. But I think I can manage the earrings myself. Not totally helpless.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Neither of them spoke and Belle watched Mr. Gold sort through her hair slowly and carefully as he retrieved the hairpins. He handed each of them to Belle who put them safely in their box until all the spaces had been filled and her hair hung free again. 

But Mr. Gold ran his fingers over her scalp one last time, “That’s the last of them, then.”

He was standing close enough behind her for her to feel his body heat.

With her hair loose and his tie undone they still looked like the set of people Belle had seen in the mirror before. 

Then he chuckled and drew her hair to one side. “I should have started with the necklace.”

He reclasped it and hand it to her to go into its box. When she had finished she turned around in place and presented him with her wrist. His fingers were soft and warm and deft and when she looked up she realized how close they were. And she looked briefly at his lips.

Why had she done that?

He handed her the bracelet and she blinked hard before turning back around to put it back in its box. Belle reached for the earrings to distract herself from her suddenly pounding heart. Mr. Gold waited until she had reboxed the earrings to brace his fingers against her back while he undid the top fastener and then slid the zipper down about half way.

She saw him flush as she watched in the mirror.

He rumbled softly, “Can you manage from here?”

Belle reached behind her brushing his fingers on the way to grabbing the zipper for herself. “Yes, thank you, I can.”

He stepped away from her and murmured, “Goodnight then, Miss French. And, I enjoyed this evening.”

She turned around to face him, “So did I, Mr. Gold. Thank you. Goodnight.”

He closed the door of the bathroom behind him and Belle held her breath for several seconds before letting out a long sigh.

She would probably never see him again after tomorrow. Probably.

The dress fell in a puddle around her ankles and Belle sighed again, sleepy, content and with a warm feeling deep inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, now that's better, isn't it? I'm not always cruel to my poor characters.


	5. Chapter 5

Their room service breakfast was every bit as wonderful as dinner had been the previous night and they ate looking out over the morning clad city. A part of Belle wished they could stay and forget about the rest of the world, but she had a job to get to and Mr. Gold’s sadness was only just being edged out by anxiety, or so it seemed to Belle. He was pleasant and ever attentive to her, but in the neutral moments, it was so obvious that something was really, really wrong.

But he didn't talk to her about it.

It felt weird to leave the hotel with extra bags. Mr. Gold had a fresh suit for today and she felt certain having a clean, dry set of undergarments felt like heaven to him by now. He smelled of the aftershave she had gotten a hint of in the airport as well. They did know his habits.

The closer their time to depart crept, the more Mr. Gold looked like his own personal thunderstorm was swallowing him up. Belle offered to drive the first leg hoping he could relax a bit.

After his final tipping of the valet, Mr. Gold didn't say anything except to assist with directions.

Belle herself needed the time to stew over what to do about the jewels. How could she possibly accept those? She couldn't and she knew it, but how on earth to give them back?

At a rest stop he caught her trying to put them in his duffle. She had been certain she had gotten away with it until a hand gently grasped hers as she zipped his bag back up.

He whispered, “I am about to discover that your jewelry has been mispacked, am I not?”

She gave him a miserable look and opened her mouth but he put a finger over her lips.

“I am going to wait until you’ve buckled your seatbelt and then I am going to ensure everything is packed properly. Go and get settled.” The desolation in his eyes was too much for Belle. She couldn't find the strength to argue with him. Or more accurately, to make him anymore unhappy.

With suspiciously damp eyes, Belle nodded quickly and climbed in on the passenger side. She heard him sniff once, then he slammed the back hatch. She should have been a lot sneakier about that. She couldn't even look at him when he got back in and started the car.

Neither of them said a word for the rest of the drive. As they pulled up to the bus station Mr. Gold murmured, “I’ll wait here with you until your bus comes. I won't leave you alone.”

She looked up at him in surprise, jaw working. Finally she said simply, “Thank you.”

He nodded and got out of the car.

He carried her new duffle bag in, no doubt assuring that she wouldn't be leaving it behind by “accident.” Belle felt like a fool. And an ungrateful one at that.

Mr. Gold stepped up to the counter when it was their turn, “Bus ticket for one to?”

He looked down at her and she spoke to the attendant without looking back a him, “Storybrooke, please.”

“What?!” Mr. Gold roared beside her and Belle startled and shrunk away from him.

“Mr. Gold? You don't have to buy my ticket if you don't want to, I can well afford it.” The last came out as a whisper.

He was staring at her, not angry, precisely, but shocked and if anything, even more devastated than before.

“Mr. Gold?”

He turned to the attendant, “We won't be needing the ticket, thank you and have a pleasant day.”

He turned and, even with the duffle, put his arm around Belle to herd her away from the counter. She flinched away from him but they did get out of the way of the line.

“Mr. Gold, I get to decide if I need a ticket somewhere, not you.” Belle found herself suddenly furious. She demanded, “What has gotten into you?”

Mr. Gold squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, swallowed hard and started- was he trembling?

“Mr. Gold?” Belle softened her voice, he looked like a spanked child.

“Miss French, I apologize.” Mr. Gold said in a calmer voice when he reopened his eyes, “You won't need a ticket because I will drive you home if you’ll allow it, unless you’d prefer to part company here. Which I would understand and would still wait with you, as promised.”

“Why would you do that? Is Storybrooke on your way?”

“You could say that. When I said I would drive you home that’s because Storybrooke is home. For me.” He fiddled with his cane and wouldn't meet her gaze. “Will you come with me or not?”

Belle ignored the question for the moment. “And finding this out distresses you? I’m sorry, but Mr. Gold I don't understand.”

He sighed and then two miserable chocolate colored eyes met her own, “I feel like a fool. I should have asked you where you were going long before now. Are you coming with me?”

“Is that all the explanation I’m to expect?”

“It is.”

Belle turned away from him. He was keeping secrets from her and it was strange. But he was kind and careful and protective of her. She felt certain if he were up to no good, he would have acted on it long before now. Was his refusing to share his pain with her a reason to decline a much more comfortable and faster trip to her new home?

No, no it wasn't.

“I’ll come with you. But I’m driving.” Belle hated how that sounded, and hated feeling the need to take control. But there it was.

“That’s fine with me. I feel very tired.” With that he walked past her and out the door toward the car leaving her to follow.

Belle put the directions into her phone and adjusted her seat.

“Starting route.”

Belle said, “You can go to sleep, Mr. Gold. I’ll get us there safely.”

Two and a half hours later, Belle stopped the car in the middle of the empty street and stared. To her right a sign proclaimed “Mr. Gold's Pawn and Antiquities Dealer” and to her left another sign read “Storybrooke Public Library.”

They were to be directly across the street from one another. Belle started to cry silently. Mr. Gold was fast asleep still in his seat next to her and Belle had just discovered that she would spend her working hours on a sightline with her travel companion, whom she thought might have been her friend. At least until his odd behavior at the bus station.

She swiped at her tears and checked the rear view to be sure no one was waiting then she let her head rest on the steering wheel for a moment. She could wake him up now and ask for directions to his home so she could drop him off, or she could drive the few remaining blocks to her father’s florist shop where she would be staying until she could afford her own place.

Mr. Gold wouldn't want her to know where he lived. At that thought, Belle put the car in gear and drove to Game of Thorns.

She parked and looked over at her companion. His chest rose and fell and his head had lolled against the glass. He’d have a sore neck from that, she guessed. His eyes twitched beneath his lids and she thought he might be dreaming.

She stroked his forearm and squeezed it gently. “Mr. Gold, we’re here. Wake up.”

He did and rubbed bleary eyes before looking at her.

“Do you feel better?” She asked.

His mouth set in a grim line and he looked out the window before sighing and saying, “Welcome home, Miss French. Thank you for being,” he swallowed hard, “for keeping me such good company on a very hard trip. I won't forget.”

“Do you want to come in an meet my father? Maybe use the restroom before you head home?”

“I know your father, Miss French, and he won't want to see me. Matter of fact, it might go better for you if you don't mention that I was your traveling partner. If you haven't mentioned me by name already.” Bleak and miserable, what had happened to the man with the sparkling eyes and quick wit. Where was his warm smile?

“Why would I do that? Why wouldn't he want to see you?” The questions tumbled out over one another.

“Miss French, no one in this town would want their daughter to keep company with me. They’ll soon tell you all about it, I’m sure-”

A flurry of motion attracted her attention and a shop bell jingled. Her father rushed over to the car on seeing her through the windshield. But his face drew into a rock light sheet of rage when he recognized Mr. Gold.

Her father started yelling immediately. “What the hell are you doing with my daughter?? What have you done to her? She better not be in debt to you now because you tricked her into some deal for a ride home you beast of a predatory bastard!”

Belle stared in shock unable to move. She’d never, ever heard her papa speak like that to anyone. 

Mr. Gold looked at her and calmly said, “I’m sorry for the questions he’s going to have for you. You had better go. Miss French?” He sounded so plaintive with his last words.

“What is it? I don't understand what’s happening here.” Belle hated the hunted and crushed look on his face.

His face crumpled and he closed his eyes. Outside the car, her father was trying to get Mr. Gold’s attention, to get him out of the car. But Mr. Gold didn't acknowledge him and he spoke with his eyes still closed, “If you truly don't want the jewelry, I could take it back to cover your father’s debts to me. But at least keep the earrings, so you won't forget, forget. Never mind. Maybe you’ll help him manage his finances better.” When he did open his eyes again they were full of tears. “I won't forget how you helped a bitter old man get home.”

He closed his eyes again and stayed turned away from her father’s ongoing tirade.

“Mr. Gold. I,” Belle wanted to reach for him, but her father could see and this situation was bad enough. “Thank you.”

With that Belle rushed out of the car after popping the rear hatch.

No sooner had she done that than her father came around to yell at the back of Mr. Gold’s head. Belle hastily grabbed her bags, all of them, amid a torrent of ugly, ugly accusations hurled by her father. She had left the keys in the ignition.

“Papa!” Belle cried desperately when she had her things out and the back door closed. “Stop! Come inside, Papa! Stop this right now!”

Maurice looked at his daughter in confusion but he stopped yelling, snatched the duffle bag from her hand and stormed into the shop.

Inside he dropped the bag and leaned against the front counter shaking with rage.

“Did he hurt you? How much do you owe him? I will kill that son of a bitch if he laid a hand on, oh gods, he's the one you spent the night in the back of that car with!!!” Her father whirled around face absolutely purple and sweating.

He started to charge back outside but Belle stood in his way, “Papa!!”

“I’m going to kill him. He’s a deadman! My little girl! I will see him hang!”

Belle shoved a hand at her father’s chest and looked over her shoulder. Mr. Gold was making his slow way around to the driver’s side and Belle really wished he would hurry up.

As well as she knew her father, never in her wildest dreams did she imagine him capable of his current behavior.

“Papa, he didn't do anything to me! Nothing! He kept me safe, got me home. That is all!!!” Belle tried to yell over her father. But he wasn't listening. “Papa, Papa! I’m fine! I’m safe. Everything is ok. He didn't hurt me! Please, Papa!”

After longer than Belle would have preferred, her father sagged against her hugging her tightly. He kept on muttering obscenities and threats, but he was also crying.

It took a solid two hours of explaining what had happened over and over again and how Mr. Gold had had no idea she was his daughter and had been nothing but a gentleman before Maurice had calmed down enough to hear her out and at least agree that Mr. Gold hadn't harmed her and that she didn't owe him anything.

Of course her tale had required some fast editing for her father’s sake, but with enough repetitions, it sounded solid enough and Maurice seemed at least partially mollified.

He did have the grace to look embarrassed when Belle asked after a late lunch, or if she needed to go out to find something.

“I’m so sorry, Belle, I just! That man! He! Oh!” Maurice blew out a breath. “Come on upstairs, I’ll cook you something, though it’s probably going to be leftovers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't throw things at me!


	6. Chapter 6

Regina Mills, Mayor of Storybrooke and Belle’s new boss was a striking woman with a dazzling smile. Belle sensed a genuine interest in the welfare of her town and a passion for her job which Belle found admirable. It would be strange to like her employer, but Belle thought, introduction to the town aside, this new chapter of her life had a bright and favorable beginning.

Her giddy and all-consuming delight with her new library, kept Belle working long hours doing mostly the very dirty work of cleaning decades of dust off of everything without noticing the grime or even much of the fatigue. This was a dream come true, her own library right out of school. She dreamt of all the new programs she would start, of applying everything from her studies to this making her library the brightest star in the community. She knew she could help and she knew she would be making a difference.

It took her father’s nervous silence over dinner three weeks after her arrival for Belle to get around to asking him what she had been putting off.

“Papa, I need to ask you something and I need you to know you can tell me anything. I’m an adult and I need you to remember that right now, can you do that?”

“Belle, this sounds serious. You’re not pregnant are you? I thought you said he never-”

“Papa! He didn't and no, I’m not. Please, I need you to focus.” When at last Maurice was calmed down and looking at her expectantly she went on. “He said you owe him money. Is that true?”

Maurice went very still. So still Belle thought he was holding his breath even. At last he said, “Yes Belle. The shop hasn't been doing well enough for the last six months to cover the rent and what I owe. I didn't want to have to ask you for rent while you live here, but I may have to to keep the shop open. I know that will slow you down in getting your own place and I’m trying to turn things around, I swear it.”

“Oh, Papa.” Belle reached across the table and took her father’s hands. “Of course I’ll help in any way I can. After dinner, let’s look at the books and start working on this together.”

“Ok.” Maurice gave her a watery smile. “I love you so very much, my dear girl.”

The books were a mess. Belle quickly determined that her father owed Mr. Gold a lot of money both in rent and for a loan for the new greenhouse extension. Why had her father extended before he had clear margins? She didn't recall him being quite so optimistic about money management in the past. Mr. Gold was right, her father needed help.

Belle felt guilty for using his money for her travels and had she known he was in trouble, she would have come straight here instead. Her mother’s ashes could have been spread later.

Belle looked up at the dresser which contained the jewelry Mr. Gold had given her. She had not told her father about that, wisely, she had thought at the time. But now a magically evaporating debt would look very suspicious and Belle worried her father might assume the worst and go after Mr. Gold.

Whom she hadn't seen or heard from since her arrival. Her brow furrowed. Storybrooke wasn't a very big place, shouldn't she have seen him out and about or seen him opening and closing his shop? Well, maybe she had been so busy and working such long hours that she had simply missed his normal comings and goings.

But why hadn't he visited her?

Silly question, her father’s tirade would have deterred anyone with sense from associating with her.

Surely once everything calmed down and she could make sure that their debts got paid on time, Mr. Gold would be less of a hot topic to her father. As far as Belle could tell from the books, Mr. Gold had been generous with extensions, but it was just as clear that he had not hesitated to collect what he was due per the terms of the loan. Including her father’s delivery van.

That was clearly the point of contention because without that, Maurice would have a harder time growing his business to cover his debts, leaving them in their current predicament.

With her first check from the city, Belle sent in the rent and their loan payment three days early.

Three months went by and still Belle had not seen Mr. Gold. The library had been open a week and disappointment still squeezed her heart when she thought of how he had not come to her grand opening.

Truth be told, Belle was lonely. Her hard work at the library had paid off and she was able to open a month ahead of schedule and under budget, to the jubilation of her employer, but that had meant the only other person she saw with any regularity was her father. And they spent their time planning garden programs to lure Storybrooke’s residents into the shop.

Thankfully that was paying off as well. The shop had been in the black for the past week as the spring rush had begun and her father’s roly-poly countenance and practical advice had begun to win over the gardeners in town.

But Belle thought that would not be enough to keep everything on the straight and narrow. Just last week she had had to cancel a large order of expensive plants they couldn't afford because Maurice was feeling enthusiastic one day. Belle had given him a stern lecture, but she was beginning to suspect that her father’s mind might be starting its slow decline into old age.

The thought terrified Belle and she tried to put it aside.

By May a manageable rhythm had emerged in Belle’s life and she began to go out on occasion.

The diner turned out to be a great lunch spot and with the weather starting to warm up, she found herself walking many evenings along the pier enjoying the sea air and the musical sounds the boats made in their moorings.

But all of these things Belle did alone. She had begun to recognize her repeat patrons to the library, but none of them seemed to stick around long enough to do more than complete their business, welcome her to town and leave. Her father told her to be patient, that it had taken this long for the town to warm up to him, after all.

Loneliness wasn't patient though, it was a constant aching that she couldn't seem to soothe.

And he had promised to write.

Of course that was when they had both thought never to see one another again. Though, if things continued the way they had been, that was likely enough to be true.

June brought the first weather Belle could consider mildly warm and it was a Friday night. She closed the library earlier on Fridays because most patrons had other things on their minds after a long week than returning books. With the door locked behind her, Belle turned around and leaned back against the door inhaling the evening sea air. Living on the coast was very pleasant in the summer. And if she could ever manage to acquire some friends, Belle thought she could live quite contentedly in this little town.

Her eyes opened again and flicked over to his shop. The lights were still on.

She stared for a minute and then started walking before she could convince herself not to.

A little bell jingled when she opened the door. The inside of his shop was dimly lit but Belle stared around in awe none the less.

Everywhere she looked something interesting caught her attention and her gaze ping-ponged around the room.

“Miss French?” 

She jumped, truly startled out of her haze of wonderment at his shop. “Oh, Mr. Gold, forgive me, I was just looking around.”

“Clearly, see anything you like?” Was he really going to pretend she was just a customer?

She approached him where he stood behind the front counter next to a huge silver cash register. “Oh yes, just about everything I think, but I, well, I actually came to see you.”

He frowned slightly then said as if he were dreading the answer, “What can I do for you, Miss French?”

Belle realized why he had answered her in that way and felt offended for a second, but then she realized that this scenario likely played out frequently for him. People didn't come into his shop because they loved antiques, they came in because they wanted something and needed money. That much she had learned since her arrival.

Well, she supposed she did want something. “You haven't written to me. You promised you would.”

Where had she found the guts to say that? Best not to question it. She looked him in the eyes for her answer.

He looked startled and he blinked at her several times. Then he murmured, “You would want me to?”

Belle gave him a disapproving frown, “I wouldn't have given you my email if I didn't.”

“But surely, by now you know, that, that I. Miss French, I had thought such a thing would be entirely unwelcomed considering our circumstance.” He looked confused and like he was trying to hide away pain.

Belle considered him for a moment and then decided she was on a roll so she may as well go for it. “And had I not lived here, but in some distant corner of the state, would you have written me then?”

He blinked and tensed up. His mouth worked for a moment then words tumbled out and she struggled a little to understand through his accent. “Yes of course I would have. I’d have asked you to meet me in Boston for the cherry blossoms and everyone was asking after you and I had nothing to say, but surely it wouldn't be right to have written you as we stand.”

“Surely nothing!” Belle exclaimed under her breath. “If you think you can't be on friendly terms with anyone who owes you money you must have no friends at all.”

Belle realized what she had said too late and he took a step back away from her like she’d slapped him.

Then he growled, “Don't you know by now that I have no friends?”

Tears sprung to Belle’s eyes. Was this his great sadness? That the entire town felt about him as her father did? How had she not put that together before?

“And your son? Surely you are a friend to him? He got over his sickness just fine?” Belle meant it to soothe him but he lunged at her over the counter getting right in her face.

“Get out!”

She stumbled backward only just catching her balance. “Mr. Gold? What?”

“Just leave, Miss French. Go.” He pointed at the door his face a thunderhead.

Belle began crying in earnest and she ran out the door but she hadn't made it five feet down the sidewalk before she heard the loud sound of something breaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *runs away*


	7. Chapter 7

A week later and still distraught and confused over the incident, Belle sipped on an iced-tea in Granny’s diner.

At the bar, the school-teacher’s husband David was talking to a man with red curly hair in a sweater vest despite the warm weather. Belle probably shouldn’t have listened, but since she had no one to talk to, she might as well.

“-worse than usual. He looked as wrecked as that display case I came in to replace. I just wish I could do something for him. I thought surely this year would be better, but then he went to Chicago anyway and he was even worse when he came back this year than last.” David spooned some ice cream into his mouth and swirled it around as he frowned at his companion.

“I’ve tried to get him to come and see me, but he always refuses. The death of a child is among the toughest burdens I know of.” Sweater-vest took a bite of his own ice cream.

 

Belle gaped as she put the pieces together. Were they really talking about Mr. Gold? But what they said didn't quite make sense to what she knew.

“It’s been ten years and he’s still turning you down. I wouldn't expect that to change, Archie.” David sighed. “Emma just got hired into that deputy position, did you hear?”

“I did! Congratulations, you must be so proud of her. We all are.” Archie clapped David on the back and smiled broadly.

Belle stopped listening and stared into her tea. Ten years, dead child, Chicago. They could always be talking about someone else, but add the broken display case to the mix and the evidence was very nearly conclusive.

Only one way to find out for sure.

Belle got up and interrupted the conversation at the bar. “Excuse me, sorry to intrude. And for eavesdropping, but were you talking about Mr. Gold, just now?”

David looked startled and said nothing, but Archie smiled warmly and said, “Aren't you Belle French, our new librarian?”

“Yes, yes I am, forgive me. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Archie Hopper.” He shook her outstretched hand.

“So why are you asking about Gold?” David frowned at her considering.

It seemed to Belle that David was trying to hide suspicion and was maybe being a little bit protective of the loan shark and landlord.

“It’s just, if you were, I met him in Chicago this winter. He drove me here so I thought. Well. He told me his son was sick, but did he die? Mr. Gold went ballistic on me when I asked after his son a week ago. I know I shouldn't listen to other peoples’ conversations, it's rude, but I’m worried about him.” Belle pleaded with the two men.

“You’re worried about Mr. Gold.” Archie started to smile but David prevented him from saying more.

“You were with him in Chicago? That must have been an awful trip back here with him as he is. I'm surprised to hear you worry about him, let alone got in a car with him.” David said earnestly.

Belle shook her head, “No, no it wasn't! I mean, it was a hard drive and we ran into some weather trouble, but he was, well, I thought.” Belle felt her cheeks heating at some of her memories, but she pushed on. “I thought I had made a friend, but then there was a scene with my father and owing him money and I’ve been busy. I really should have checked on him before now. I knew he was sad, but ten years? Did you say? He lied to me?”

Archie reached out trying to stem her flow of words and when she finally stopped speaking he put a hand on her arm. “I probably shouldn't tell you this, but he’s never been my patient officially and you may be the closest person in the world to Mr. Gold right now. Try not to think of it as if he lied to you. You see, Mr. Gold has gone back to Chicago on the anniversary of his son’s death every year since it happened. He was away on a business trip and couldn't get back before, well, David was with him when he passed. In Mr. Gold’s mind, he goes back to relive what happened every year, so when you met him, he may not have been living in the present moment, so to speak.”

Belle’s eyes watered and she blinked rapidly. “Do you think anyone can help him, at this point?”

Archie smiled sadly, “That there is another person in this world that even tried to befriend Mr. Gold gives me hope. If anyone can reach him, maybe it could be you. And we’ll both help you however we can. Just ask.”

David nodded along. He frowned for a moment then said, “I really hope you can get through to him. He’s difficult to deal with even though he always upholds the law and his contracts down to the last word. If he had someone, anyone, it would be a service to the entire Maine coastline.”

Archie nodded then said, “Belle, are you coming to the kite festival next weekend? Lots of people turn up, there are kids everywhere and it's a great time. It’s down on the point. You won't be able to miss it.”

“Hey yeah, you should come and find us. My wife and I staff a kite making booth for the kids. Do you want to help?” David was smiling at her and for the first time since she had arrived that dreadful day, Belle felt less lonely.

“I’d love to! And thanks for telling me. I want to help him. If he’ll let me.” Belle smiled at both of them and enjoyed the friendly expressions she received in return.

Two days later she stood outside the pawn shop trying to scrape together some courage. It had taken her two days to come even this far and the thought of opening the door and going in there felt like she was staring into the Mines of Moria.

But she was here trying to rescue the balrog.

Stop it Belle, you read too much.

She opened the door and closed it firmly behind her before looking toward the counter. He wasn't there. She noticed a curtain that must have lead into a private area in back and she gave a little start when it twitched aside in spite of herself.

The balrog let the curtain fall behind him and stared at her, apparently quite surprised.

“I’m here to save you.” Had she just said that out loud? She was more nervous that she thought.

“What?” Mr. Gold blurted out, clearly thrown for a loop for the second time in as many minutes.

May as well go with it.

“I’m here to save you from yourself and I won't take no for an answer. You can roar and flame as much as you like and if you want to break things, fine. But I’ll still be here.” Belle stood up straight and raised her chin. Her height might impress no one, but she was here to rescue a creature of darkness and flame in her favorite blue lace sun dress and his white fire-opal earrings. She had done a little research.

“Miss French, it is the middle of the day and you are, what, drunk? High? Go home and sleep this off. If I see you thus during the work day again, though, I will have a word with Regina.” Mr. Gold seemed disappointed even as he threatened her.

Belle stepped forward and stabbed a finger into his chest. “I am neither and I resent your comment, but it won't deter me.” 

She was about to continue but Mr. Gold had looked right past the finger poking him in the sternum to the flowers in her other hand. And he stared as if he couldn't look away from the white egret orchid bouquet she had purchased discretely while her father was teaching a class out in the greenhouse that morning.

Silence stretched between them for another half a second before Belle softened her tone, “These are for you,” she took his hand and pressed the flowers into them. Tears prickled her eyes when she looked up. “I am sorry about your son, I didn't know.”

Mr. Gold closed his eyes and she could feel him clench the stems in his fist, crushing them. Then he turned on his heel and disappeared back through the curtain.

Belle stood there blinking the sting from her watering eyes. This was going to take some doing. But she had a decision to make, follow him now and push, or come back and try again later.

Belle watched the curtain, but it didn't move. She licked her lips and waited. Nothing.

She took a deep breath and decided she would try again tomorrow. With food.

At noon precisely, Belle strode into his shop. Telling her father she was making a picnic basket to cheer up a friend only barely kept him from snooping further than would have been convenient.

The curtain opened to reveal the proprietor whose automaton-like pleasant expression fell off immediately upon seeing who had intruded. He just stared at her out of fatigued eyes without saying anything.

“Mr. Gold! Are you ready for lunch? I made us a blueberry pie for dessert, shall we eat in the back or would you prefer out here?” Belle smiled brightly at her mopey balrog.

“Miss French, why are you here?” He sounded exhausted.

For a horrifying second Belle doubted herself. Was she doing the right thing? Was plopping herself in the middle of his life helpful? Or was she just taxing what little was left of his hold on his sanity?

No, no, she had been a balm to him that winter. Now she knew more than ever what Alice was talking about, he had been a man transformed that evening, no, that entire trip. That man still lived and she would not let him smother under the wet blanket of grief. For those few days they spent together, Mr. Gold had believed in a life apart from his grief, or at least a life beside it. Belle was certain. Besides, she had promised to ease his suffering if she could.

So maybe Mr. Gold had just allowed himself a small vacation from his burden, but Belle knew the man she met at the airport was desperately trying to survive. He was worth saving.

“Mr. Gold I am here because it is lunch time. So, where shall we eat.”

“Do not patronize me, Miss French. I have no patience for it. I’m no one’s ideal lunch companion so drop the act and tell me what you want.” His voice was cold.

It wasn't like she had expected this to be an easy task, but Belle did as he asked, she dropped the pretense.

“I’m here because I’m worried about you and as I told you yesterday, to save you from yourself. I was quite up front about that, so don't pretend otherwise.” Belle swallowed hard, “But I'm also here for myself. Mr. Gold, I’ve been here six months and I have no real friends. The one person I thought would be my friend made absolutely no effort to contact me. I am ashamed it took me so long to figure out that something was terribly, terribly wrong quite aside from whatever awkward circumstances there were. It tears me up inside that you needed me and I didn't even know it.”

Belle stopped talking and shut her eyes, she knew this shouldn’t be about her, but she was as much a part of this as he was and she needed to tell him that.

“I have been sitting in my father’s apartment late at night with a gold chain in my hands because I have no one to call. I only do that after he’s gone to bed though because he doesn't know about that part of the trip. Gold is a terrible substitute for a hug and conversation. This town is so tightly interwoven that it very effectively keeps outsiders out. No one reaches out because everyone has what they need. But I don't. And I kept waiting for you to write to me, to hear anything from the man who wasn't embarrassed to read aloud with me in a hotel lobby. I’m lonely, Mr. Gold and I miss my friend.” She shifted from foot to foot then blurted out the last, “And don't tell me no one would want to eat with you because I do! You can't hide from me because I know who you can be. And this basket is heavy!”

Belle opened her eyes in surprise when the weight of her basket suddenly lifted away.

“No one’s ever yelled at me because they want to see more of me before.” He addressed the basket on his arm rather than her, but she heard his soft murmur.

“I’ll do it every day if that’s what it takes,” Belle whispered back.

“I’ll just let you down, Belle. I’m not who you hope I am. I just can't do it anymore.” He muttered this at the basket, still not looking at her.

Belle licked her lips. “It doesn't matter if you let me down, you’re worth the effort to me.”

“I wish you wouldn't. It’ll only be worse when you see me for who I truly am and give up, rightfully so.”

“You stop that!” Belle whispered and squeezed the hand resting on his cane. “I don't need you to make this harder by telling me how to feel. I’ll decide that for myself, no matter what you say in any case. Now I really am hungry and I worked hard on our lunch, so do me the courtesy of eating it with me.”

She waited. And waited. And waited for some kind of response from him. She stroked the back of his hand and up his arm to massage the tight muscles there. She worried he’d stand there until the heavy basket pulled his arm off, but she’d still be standing there waiting. Starved or not.

“This way,” he barely whispered and pulled away from her touch.

The back room of his shop was an organized clutter. Clearly he spent most of this time back here restoring and repairing his wares. But who bought them? Having been his neighbor, Belle knew no one every bought anything from the shop. The only people who went in wanted something other than antiques.

He cleared a space carefully on his work bench for their meal and turned his back on her to put a kettle on for tea. Never mind the already warm day, apparently. Belle didn't object, but rather set out their food.

He served her tea when it was ready and sat down opposite her.

She waited, watching to see what he would do, having already selected from the choice of sandwich options for herself. He ignored the sandwiches and, with a shaking hand took a forkful of pie.

He said nothing, but his eyes closed when he chewed.

Matter of fact, Mr. Gold didn't speak for the remainder of their meal together and all he ate was pie and tea. When Belle had finished she rewrapped two of the sandwich halves, set them aside for him, and repacked the rest of the largely untouched meal.

“I’m coming back, Mr. Gold. I’ll always come back, so don't even think about trying to get rid of me.” Belle teased him lightly, but she meant every word.

On the other side of the curtain, Belle took a breath. A small victory, but a victory none the less. She was about to hustle out of the shop, her lunch break had been over fifteen minutes ago, when a thought struck her. She darted a glance back at the curtain then dug out the other slice of pie she hadn't eaten and left it next to the register.

Saturday was a typically busy day for Belle and the more so because the forth grade had been assigned a research project on kites in preparation for the festival the following weekend. At the beginning of the day, Belle had had a neat and enticing display of books about kites and aviation and by the end of it, she had a bare table. Perfect.

She locked up smiling broadly that evening. Everything felt better when she had enthusiastic patrons in her library, especially little ones.

She was opening the door to the pawn shop with every intention of sharing her jubilant day with Mr. Gold before she had thought it through. Doubt crept in behind the evening shadows, but she shut the door firmly behind her anyway. It was too late to change her mind anyway.

The curtain whipped aside a second later and, was that relief on his face?

And he had clean picnic-ware in his hand. Her cleaned picnic-ware, which had last contained the pie she’d left for him.

She had made the right choice.

“Miss French, your pie does you credit.” He wasn't smiling at her, but his expression wasn't a dark one either. He was making an effort.

She answered him with a broad smile, “I’m so glad you think so, Mr. Gold. I’m sorry to disappoint you by not having any with me at the moment.”

“It’s no matter, but when you didn't come to collect this, I, well, never mind. I can return it to you now.” He crossed the room and handed her the little plastic box.

She brushed his fingers deliberately when she accepted it. Did he linger a moment at the contact or had she imagined it? “You what, Mr. Gold? What is it?”

He frowned and seemed embarrassed, “I half expected you to show up for lunch today, and when you didn't, I figured you’d come to your senses.”

The last part trailed off a bit but she heard it. And she also heard an opportunity. “Mr. Gold I didn't get lunch today because the library was so busy. Can I make it up to you now with dinner? No vending machines, I promise.”

He licked his lips then shut his eyes and sighed, “If you didn't tell your father about our stay at the Empress because you were concerned about how he would take it, how do you think he would feel about us being seen at dinner together?”

Belle felt quite taken aback at that. Then she stood up straighter. “My father is going to have to live with the fact that his adult daughter gets to choose her own company. Let me worry about him. So, Granny’s or the fish and chips stand by the marina?”

“I’m not well received at Granny’s.” He may have meant that as a refusal, but Belle wasn't having any of it.

“Fish and chips it is. I’ll wait while you lock up.” She clasped her hands in front of her and smiled up at him, daring him to refuse.

He looked like he wanted to, but he murmured, “I’ll just be a minute.”

When he reemerged from the back, he had a small covered basket with him.

“What’s that?” Belle asked unable to restrain her curiosity.

“Just some tea cakes, surely stale by now.” Was he trying to hide disappointment?

Belle waited on the sidewalk while he locked his front door before they set off.

He gestured at a huge, old, black Cadillac and said, “I’ll just leave these and we can walk?”

“Sure.” Belle love the thought of a summer evening walk with him, even a brief one.

With the nautical music of the small harbor to comfort them, they walked slowly toward the tiny restaurant. The temperature was just perfect, the heat of the day fading in the marine breeze. Sea gulls swooped and chased each other off of scraps and a stately heron perched on a piling surveilling the scene.

Neither spoke as they ate, nor afterwards as they sat on a bench watching the waves and the occasional seal.

Rather than this being of concern, Belle relaxed into the moment feeling much more certain of her choice to coax Mr. Gold back into the land of the living. She had thought it would be much, much harder to make it even this far. And yet, after three days of effort he was sitting beside her with very little persuasion required. Then a thought struck her.

“Mr. Gold?”

“Yes?” The low angle sun made the color in his eyes flare to light and for a moment Belle was dazzled and she stared at just how beautiful his eyes were. Finally he prodded her, “Belle?”

“Uh, sorry, um. Were you expecting company for tea this afternoon? Not that it’s my business.” She added the last a bit hastily as she also keyed in on the fact at he had just used her name.

He blinked and looked down. “I was, yes. But I was mistaken.”

Deciding to play along, Belle replied, “If I ever don't show up when you are expecting me, come find me. It won't be because I don't want to see you, kind of like I didn't get lunch today, you know?”

“And you would allow the consumption of tea in your library?” 

She had been right then. Belle whispered conspiratorially, “What I do in my own office is my business and the mayor never need know of it.”

“I’d scare off your patrons. There’s a reason I don't have customers in this town.” He looked back out to sea affording Belle another opportunity to enjoy the sun glowing in his eyes.

“But you have customers elsewhere,” she noted.

“Oh yes, the internet is wonderful for trolls like me. I do a swift business in antiques, restoration and other related wares online. The only time I have to see others in the business are at shows and of those, Boston hosts regularly which works out well for me. I can usually hold it together for a couple of consecutive days, mostly.” He gave a small self-deprecating smile.

They lapsed into silence again, but a comfortable one.

The wind came up and lifted Belle’s hair from her shoulders. It also ruffled her sun dress which was quickly becoming insufficient to keep her warm. But Belle didn't want to say anything, she would shiver for hours if it meant he was here with her.

“Can I ask you something?” He caught her by surprise.

Turning to him she said quickly, “Of course, anything.”

“Why did you decide to keep it?”

“Keep what?” However Belle had figured out what he was talking about by the end of her second word.

“The jewelry. You could have been rid of it as you wanted and your father’s debts instead of you having to pay them down yourself. And yes, I know you’re doing that.” He was fiddling with the handle of his cane.

Belle took her time before answering him. “At first it was because I would have to tell Papa how his debts had disappeared over night and considering how he reacted to seeing you with me, that wouldn't go well.”

When she didn't continue he prodded her, “And then?”

She turned fully to face him, demanding his attention, “And then you never wrote to me. And I couldn't bare the thought of going to your shop and handing over all I had left of, of you.”

She hadn't meant to say it like that, but it was too late for that.

Mr. Gold froze staring into her eyes. Her breath came shallowly and she waited, fearing his response. 

After a moment he blinked several times, then licked his parted lips. “I don't want them back, you know that. But Belle, I have nothing meaningful to offer you. I’m a dried up husk of a miserable old man. Not worth the smallest second of your time.”

The beginnings of tears stung her eyes and she grabbed his hand. “That’s not what I saw when we were looking in the mirror together. Do you want to know what I saw?”

He hesitated, but then nodded.

“I saw someone I very much wanted to have dinner with who seemed very much to want to have dinner with me. That is not nothing to offer, dried up or otherwise. Unless I missed my guess? What did you see?” Belle implored.

“My last chance.” He gripped her hand. “The next day you’d be out of my life forever. I knew letters would become sparse over time and then forgotten entirely, because that’s what happens. No one’s fault, just normal drifting. But I hoped that I might have my fairytale last just one more night. And I hoped you’d enjoy it too.”

A tear slid down Belle’s cheek and she could see the moisture in his eyes too. She whispered, “I did. I really did.”

After another second of eye contact, Belle leaned in and caught his lips softly with hers. For a terrified moment, Belle feared she’d just assaulted him because he didn't respond, but the fraction of a second before she would have pulled away his hand landed in her hair, she heard the clatter of his cane on the boardwalk, and he was kissing her back.

Belle finally realized that the sobbing noises she heard between kisses were coming from both of them. Her fingers were tangled in his hair and he had pulled her to him by the waist. He kissed at her tears and she wiped at his and when they had to catch their breath, they pressed their foreheads together nuzzling noses as they sniffled softly.

She would have expected their crying to stop, but it didn't. She thought of Mr. Gold’s son and clutched him more tightly. Soon after that she thought of her mother and added more of her own tears.

The sun had set by the time their breathing had evened out and Belle had ended up sitting on his lap with her head on his shoulder. He held her and stroked her hair with his head leaning against hers.

“What’s your name?” Belle whispered.

After a little huff of what might have been laughter he whispered back, “My name is Evan.”

“Evan.”

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I forgiven yet?


	8. Chapter 8

Belle arrived home at just after dark and her father was waiting for her.

“Belle, would you join me for a cup of tea?”

“Actually, Papa, I’m pretty tired, I was on my way to bed.” That was completely true, but Belle would recognize that “you’re in trouble” phrase no matter how old she got.

“You have time for tea.” Maurice walked into the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

Already feeling like a mattress monkey teenager out past curfew, Belle slunk into the kitchen without trying to give away anything.

The tea had been sitting out long enough to have been long since cold, but her father sat down at the table anyway.

“My girl, I know you’re old enough to not have to ask my permission, but you could have done me the courtesy of at least telling me. I wonder what I did to have you feeling like you have to sneak around.”

“Papa, you didn't do anything-”

“I found the wedding dress in your closet and enough jewelry to fund a college education. I had no intention of snooping in your private space, but some of your mother’s things are stored in that closet and I wanted to show Marco some photographs of you as a baby.” Maurice scrubbed a hand over his face. “Were you even going to tell me?”

This morning, Belle would never have imagined that of her secrets, she’d be relieved that this was the one she had to explain to her father. She really wasn't ready to discuss what had just taken place at the marina.

“Papa, that’s not a wedding dress, but it is lovely enough to be one.”

“I shouldn't be disappointed right now, this is all very confusing.” Maurice harrumphed and then went on, “Alright. I know you had some wonderful adventures on your way here, but I didn't leave you that kind of money. And if those are diamonds, Belle… Please tell me you didn't steal all that. You wouldn't. I mean, I don't know why I even said that. Did you?”

She grabbed his hand to get his attention, Belle smiled, unable to ignore the laughable thought that she’d be capable of stealing a loaf of bread, let alone the items in question. “No, I didn't steal anything. All of that was a gift, one I tried unsuccessfully to refuse.” Belle licked her lips, thinking furiously. He’d know if she lied. “I met a gentleman and we traveled together for a few days. I really liked him Papa. On our last night he wanted to take me to dinner, but said I didn't have anything suitable. So he took care of that. I was so uncomfortable with it all, but he said all the right things, offered that I could go in my jeans and he wouldn't care. He just wanted my company. I knew I wouldn't ever see him again, so I accepted. I even tried to leave the jewels with him, but he caught me and he was so offended I couldn't refuse them again.”

“That’s far too incredible for you to be making it up. Rich people are so strange, my girl. They don't even live in our world, I swear. I don't want the details, father's shouldn't ask about some things, but did you enjoy the dinner at least? How was the food?” Her father’s eyes sparkled, he loved hearing about her adventures.

Belle knew she was in the clear and could relax. She chuckled, “Dinner was fabulous, and so was the food.”

Maurice nodded and took a drink of his cold tea. “Must have been some gentleman if you haven't sold those jewels and bought a house to get out of living with your old man.”

Keeping the truth to herself was excruciating. “I’m certain you can understand that this story wasn't one I wanted to share right away, given how things were when I arrived. And, well, to be honest, I can't bare to part with them. If I ever got the chance, I’d go to dinner with him again.”

“Well, can you contact him? I mean, if he’s that well off and dinner was half as good for him as it was for you, he could afford to come and visit. I’d like to meet him! Even a chance at happiness, no matter how strangely it comes about is worth pursuing.” Maurice was thinking of his wife and Belle knew it. He always had that look in his eyes when he was remembering her mother.

“Do you really think so, Papa? You’d want to meet him? I mean, our acquaintance is just at its start, if it goes anywhere at all.” Belle’s heart thundered at what she had just arranged to do to her father. It wasn't very nice, and yet.

“Belle, it’s very obvious to me that you like this guy. If I meet him, that’d be great, but what really matters is if you want to see him again.” Maurice was a tender hearted man and a total sucker for love. Would that get him past what was about to befall him?

“I do, I very much want to see him again.”

“Well ok then! Tell me, where’s he from? Is he a prince of India?” Maurice may as well have been eating popcorn in front of his favorite TV show.

Belle sighed. Maurice was going to be very, very angry about this no matter how he found out. There was a chance that someone saw them on the bench together this very night and the whole town would be buzzing tomorrow, for that matter. Maybe it would be better to tell him now and deal with his rage. But if she could soften the blow, introduce the Evan Gold she knew gradually, offer Maurice another perspective on his creditor, maybe it would go better. And when Evan arrived, Belle wouldn't have to face this alone.

That last bit, selfishly decided things. “He’s not a prince, nor from India. He’s from Scotland and he’s a land owner. He loves history and art and he’s well read. He listens to me and cares what I have to say. We ran into some foul weather and he did everything he could to keep me safe. He cares about his family and he’s generous with those he cares for.” Belle couldn't help but smile as she described Evan to her unsuspecting father.

“He sounds nothing like our Scottish landlord and resident monster.” Maurice grunted.

“No, he doesn't, does he.” Belle murmured and drank some of her own cold tea.

“Well, I won't keep you up anymore, Belle. Even if nothing comes of this, it makes me happy to see you like this. Goodnight.”

Belle sagged back into her chair the second he was gone. Then she texted Evan.

Belle went to the diner for breakfast early on Sunday morning. If there was a scandal with her name on it, she’d find out about it there first. And if there was a problem, she could get home and explain everything to her father before he heard about it elsewhere. She hoped.

She had only just ordered when David and Mary Margaret arrived. To her surprise, they came over to her table.

“May we join you?” David asked politely.

Oh gods, it happened, here it comes.

Belle smiled like she knew nothing about anything and readily agreed.

Mary Margaret started in immediately. “David told me about your wanting to help Mr. Gold and I think that’s wonderful. When we saw you, I hope you don't mind, I just wanted to tell you about his son. It’s not the nicest breakfast conversation, I know, but is that ok?”

Belle relaxed, this was a most unexpected and welcome surprise. Sure, maybe Evan would get around to telling her eventually, but forewarned was forearmed, right?

“Anything you can tell me that would help me help him I want to know,” Belle said earnestly.

“Blair was Emma’s dearest friend from the moment they met in kindergarten. They were inseparable. Except that Blair died. He was twelve. It took Blair six months to even tell Emma he was sick and he might not have if the chemo hadn't taken his hair. He had some kind of rare bone cancer.” The couple across from her clasped their hands on the table when Mary Margaret paused in her story. “Emma missed almost as much school as Blair did and she spent a lot of time taking care of him at the Gold house.”

David picked up when his wife fell silent. “Blair had almost a year of chemo cycles before the end. And the worst part is that it wasn't the cancer that killed him. We were staying with him while his father was away on business when he spiked a fever. I called Evan immediately, but a storm delayed his flight. Blair died of an infection six hours before his father got there.”

No one had dry eyes at the table and Belle cried openly, soaking her napkin. Both Nolans put a hand on her shoulder and tried to soothe her from across the table.

“What did you do to my favorite customer?” Ruby had served Belle most often when she came in and the two had begun to chat a bit.

“Find some tact, Ruby.” Granny yelled as she went by.

“We told her about Blair Gold.” David murmured then he added, “Belle was in Chicago with Mr. Gold this past winter.”

“Oh, I see. Yeah, that’s just about the worst story this town has to offer. I’m sorry sweetie, that one’s a doozy. If he weren't such a bastard, I’d feel sorry for Mr. Gold. I mean that guy has never even been to his kid’s grave, so I hear. Everyone in town went to that funeral, except him.”

Belle choked on her tears and couldn't say anything.

“Sorry to ruin your morning, Belle, but we thought you might want to know.” David murmured.

“I do, I do want to know that.” Belle got a handle on her sobs and dried a few more stray tears. “My mother died, so it’s all kind of personal for me, is all.”

“Oh!” David and his wife said in chorus. Then David said, “We’re so sorry to hear that, Belle.”

“It’s ok, it’s not like it something anyone ever gets over, but I'm doing alright now. I just hope I can help Mr. Gold.” And she did. And maybe kissing him senseless would be a way of helping too.

Her breakfast arrived with an extra item she hadn't ordered: a pancake with a chocolate chip smiley face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think you'd seen the last of the angst did you?


	9. Chapter 9

Evan agreed that they needed to tell her father as soon as possible. He frowned at her deception but then suggested an out of the way cafe in a nearby town. That way he could meet them there and no one would know Maurice or Belle and any unpleasantness had a chance at being confined.

They both agreed that they shouldn't take another chance at being noticed by the good townsfolk of Storybrooke beforehand, so they planned the whole thing over the phone during lunch on Monday.

Tuesday evening was the big day.

“Are you ready, Papa? We need to go so we’re not late.”

Maurice looked decidedly overstuffed in the only suit he owned, but there was nothing for it so Belle hustled him out the door. If she clutched at the steering wheel and sweated more than was desirable, oh well.

Maurice made no verbal comment on her nervousness, but he did rub her back as they walked into the little cafe.

As agreed, Belle texted Evan as soon as they were seated and then he texted her back five minutes later.

“Papa, he’s here, I’m just going to go greet him, ok?”

Maurice had smiled broadly, “Go on then, go see him.”

Belle desperately wished this evening would continue on as the celebration Maurice thought it was going to be. If only.

Out in the parking lot, Evan was waiting for her. He stroked her cheek and then kissed her softly. He whispered, “I'm so happy to see you.”

“You too. I’m so sorry this will probably go badly. Extremely badly. I told him about you, everything about you that makes me happy, but I doubt that will be enough to soften this.”

“It’ll be alright, even if he hates me forever. I can handle it. And he’ll never hate you, trust me on that.” He held her back when she hugged him before he finished his sentence.

“Ok then,” Belle murmured when she pulled back, “let’s get this over with.”

Thankfully they could approach the table such that Maurice had his back to them.

“Papa,” Belle said softly and as her father turned around she continued, “this is Evan, the man I’ve been telling you about.”

Maurice French fulminated on the spot. “What!?”

He surged to his feet, towering over the pair of them and Belle gripped Evan’s hand tightly in spite of her sweating palms.

“How dare you lay your filthy hands on my daughter, you thistle arse!”

“Mr. French please sit down. There’s no cause for a scene.”

“No cause-!”

“Papa, you’ll get us thrown out. Let’s all sit down and have the nice meal we intended.” Belle grabbed her father's arm and tugged him toward his chair.

The wait-staff and other guests were staring and the maitre d’ had her hand reaching for something.

Maurice’s face was headed straight for purple and he took another breath to resume bellowing but Belle growled, “Papa! Sit down.”

For a wonder he did. But Belle heard the telltale pop of a seam ripping somewhere.

Evan seated her and then himself.

Several servers and the maitre d’ arrived precipitously at their table. “Is everything quite alright here?”

“It is,” Belle said firmly. “We will not disrupt your restaurant further, will we Papa.”

It was not a question. And the hideous sound of grinding teeth was Maurice's reply. But he didn't say anything further. For the moment.

“Everything I told you about him is true. Papa, Evan isn't a bad man. He’s a business man, much like yourself. If you had kept your finances on the straight and narrow, none of this, animosity, would have developed. He’d only be your landlord. You know that’s true, Papa. I know it’s painful, but you need to get a handle on that.” Belle had never spoken so to her father and she hoped she never would again.

“Smug tartaned twat thinks he can take whatever he wants from me and now my daughter! Business is one thing, but Belle is quite another!” Maurice growled at Evan, who looked like he’d practiced being calm in situations like this over the course of many years. Belle supposed he had.

“Mr. French, I am not going to take your daughter from you. No one should ever be separated from their child.” Evan coughed, but went on, “But she’s not some precious gem to be taken. She’ll always be your daughter, regardless of how she feels about me.” Evan took a sip of his water and Belle watched Maurice fume. “You’re quite right that business is business and am I not correct in noting that yours is going much better now that your daughter is keeping tabs? You’re on track to pay off your loan by the end of the year. Though I do hope you plan on paying your daughter back.”

“Evan!” Belle hissed. “Not helpful.”

“You’re damned right I’ll pay her back every cent I owe her. And how dare you imply I wouldn't. You dig at people, find their soft spots and punch them whenever you can. I know you Gold and I don't want you anywhere near my child.” Maurice spat.

Belle overheard part of a conversation behind her, “-as long as they are talking and not being loud, they can stay, but the second it boils over, just call the police. We don't have to host another one of Gold’s rental disputes, even if he owns the place.”

“Mr. French, my records are an open book. I honor all my contracts to the letter and have been known to be generous. Your insults are spurious at best. I know you are a loving father. And I understand about protecting your child. I’d have done anything for,” Evan choked and swallowed hard, “suffice it to say, I understand. You know that I am a man of my word, even when inconvenient, so I will tell you as plainly as I know how that Belle owes me nothing. Nothing. My interest in her is personal, not business. Neither of us need your permission, but we have no desire to pursue this, wherever it may lead, behind your back. So here we are, in the open, asking you to accept that we intend to pursue a personal relationship.”

“I’ve heard about your parenting skills, so don't you even-”

“Don't you dare!” Belle kept her voice below a shout by sheer determination. “We both know all about cancer, don't we? How could you even sink so low! Papa, I am ashamed!”

Evan stood up and set his napkin down on the table, “Would you like a ride home, Belle? I can't stay here. I know he’s your father but he has crossed the line and I will not hear anything more from him.”

“You’re right, Mr. Gold. I was out of line.” Both Belle and Evan turned surprised eyes on her father. He was looking at the table. “They said you left your sick kid in someone else's care to build your empire, but if it was cancer then that can't be the whole story. I wasn't there when Colette passed either and I’ve never forgiven myself.”

“Papa, you told me she died in your arms.” Belle’s eyes welled up and she clutched at Evan for support.

“I lied to comfort you, and myself, Belle. I couldn't bear for anyone to know. I walked out of the room, to stir her lunch, soup or something. When I came back, she was gone.” Maurice had tears on his cheeks now.

“They said Mama died of a heart attack, the radiation weakened her heart. Is that even true?” Evan had pulled her against him and was rocking her while she stared at her father.

“Yes, that’s true. I just couldn't tell you she died alone with me ten steps away. I’m so sorry.” Maurice broke down around the truth finally revealed. 

Evans voice sounded rough when he spoke, “That wasn't your fault, Mr. French. But I know no amount of hearing it will ever make a difference.” Evan clutched her tightly to him, almost painfully tight. “My Blair, my brave and tough Blair. His last report showed his tumors were shrinking, we were winning. So I felt I could leave him with the Nolans who had been helping me care for him. I was a single father and I needed all the help I could get.” 

Belle felt his sob as he tried to breathe. 

“The day before I left, I felt that little tickle in my throat, you know when you're about to get a cold, but it went away and I never got sick. But Blair, he did, and by the time I knew, it was already too late for me to get back in time. I killed my own son, probably when I kissed him goodnight for the last time.” Belle rubbed his back, her own tears were soaking into his suit and she could feel his spasming rib cage as he tried to continue to breathe and speak. It took a moment before he was able, “So, yes, my parenting skills are questionable and I failed my child.”

The entire restaurant was silent, but for the kitchen noise. Everyone had heard that exchange, Belle realized. She couldn't think what to say next. She thought she had been recovering from her grief, years later though it was, but now it felt raw and new and gnawing on her with sharp teeth. And the man clutching her, his pain, his guilt, even the Nolans hadn't know the final damning details that had driven Evan to the brink of insanity.

Evan whispered at last, “I’m not here to take your child from you, Mr. French, I just want to love her, if she’ll have me. That’s all. I swear it.”

Belle wanted to comfort her father, to quiet his tears too, but she wouldn't let go of Evan just yet and he showed no sign of loosening his hold either.

She had heard what he said, too, and if love were a possibility between them, nothing would make her happier. Belle didn't know if it was too soon to call what she felt love, maybe. But maybe not. She relished the opportunity to find out though, no matter the outcome. She wanted to explore this with Evan.

At last her father looked up at them. He searched their faces for a long time and then he finally murmured, “Ok. Ok then.”

A fresh wave of tears poured down her cheeks and she gasped, “Thank you, Papa!”

Belle knew he wasn't doing something so sexist as giving Evan permission to court her, he was simply acknowledging that he was going to try to let his resentments go. For her sake.

Evan dropped a kiss into her hair and she hugged him.

The three of them actually did eat a meal together, if awkwardly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you still speaking to me??? If not I'll completely understand. :)


	10. Epilogue

When fall came, Evan invited Belle back to Boston to see the fall colors and enjoy the city. The staff of the Empress fell all over themselves in excitement over her return. Alice had hugged her until Belle feared her ribs would break. They had shared an afternoon tea together while Evan conducted some business and Alice had demanded all the juicy details. Belle chose to be judicious about sharing those.

Belle had started to worry when Christmas time rolled around again. Evan tried but could not contain his heartbreak. This season would be difficult for him forever and Belle knew that. Evan spent more time in the library than he did in his own shop and after a few weeks of this her patrons had stopped jumping in fright when they saw him shelving a book or bringing her tea.

No doubts remained in Belle’s mind. She loved him. Nothing else could describe how she felt. They had quickly begun to merge their lives after that fateful dinner with her father and now their habits walked together in lock step. They helped each other with whatever came up, they showed up with soup if someone caught a cold.

And yes, Belle spent more nights in his strange pink victorian than she did in her father’s apartment above the flower shop at times. Though they used two methods of birth control, Belle always sighed with relief when she was on time each month. Maybe someday, but now wasn't the time for that.

Her father had just left after dinner on Christmas Eve and Evan had Belle wrapped up in a blanket in his lap. The fireplace crackled and provided the only light save those on the Christmas tree which twinkled merrily.

“I love you, Belle.” Evan whispered in her ear.

Belle sighed contentedly. “I love you too, Evan. I never imagined this when I accepted a ride home from a stranger in the airport.”

He chuckled softly. “It didn't take me long to start imagining it, if I'm honest.”

“I started having dirty thoughts when I saw you with your shirt unbuttoned and your sleeves rolled up. I’m surprised you survived the trip with your virtue intact.”

“Miss French, my virtue and I parted company a very long time ago, you needn't have worried about that.” He dropped a little flurry of kisses into her hair.

Belle looked out at the snow falling past the window.

“This is much better than the back of an SUV.”

“Much,” he agreed.

“Do you think you’ll go to Chicago this year?” The question left her mouth in a rush. She’d been trying to figure out how to ask him for the last month and had been unsuccessful.

He blew a long breath into her hair. “To be honest, I don't know. I’ve tried not to go every year since he died. Tried to tell myself to stop, tried to face this house without him, but I’ve never been successful. I always end up dashing for a red-eye because being here is just too much and I can't face it. I can't say that won't happen again this year.”

“It's ok if it does. Maybe you could buy two tickets on that red-eye and wake me up in time to pack? Or not, that doesn't really matter.” Belle rubbed a hand up and down his side.

“You’d do that?”

“Of course I would.”

“I feel, so, so comforted right now, Belle. That you’d go with me, knowing how crazy it is and how I’ll be.” He sniffed and snuggled her tighter.

“I’ve already done one trip to Chicago with you, well home anyway, and I fell in love with you, so if that’s how you’ll be, sign me up.” Belle inhaled at his open collar enjoying his warm scent.

He was silent a long time, then he said softly, “And if I stayed, would you stay with me?”

Belle sat up and turned to face him. “Evan Gold, I will not leave your side regardless of where we are. I’m not going anywhere.”

And she kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear we-aim-to-misbehave, I do hope you've done ok with the angst monster. I had this story planned before we exchanged certain messages, so I am a little worried this might have been uncomfortable for you. I didn't write it with that intent, no, this came into being because I have a wee penchant for angst. Or maybe not so wee. In any case, Merry Rumbelle Christmas and I've thoroughly enjoyed being your Santa.

**Author's Note:**

> No excuse, but please be aware that I made up anything and everything I needed to with a bare minimum of research. Please engage your suspension of disbelief firmly and just enjoy the ride. Thank you for your understanding!


End file.
